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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Hiatorical  Microraproductiona 


Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  hiatoriquaa 


1980 


i. 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n 


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D 
D 


D 


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10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

y 

" 

12X                             16X                             20X                              24X                             28X                             32X 

1 

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dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mithode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

TALES  OF  A  GARRISON  TOWN. 


BOOKS  BY  ARTHUR  WENTWORTH  EATON. 

TiiK  Heart  of  the  Creeds. 
Acadian  Legends  and  Lyrics. 

The  Church  of  England  in  Nova  Scotia   .«.. 

i^uvA  acoTiA  and  the  Tory 

CI.ERGY   OF   the    RfiVOLrTION. 

Letter  Writing,  its  Ethics  and  Etiquette. 


BOOKS  BY  CRAVEN  LANGSTROTH  BEITS. 

Songs  from  Beranger. 

The  Perfume  Holder  :  A  Persian  Love  Poem. 


3RY 


"  He  deftly  caujjht  her  by  the  wrist,  wrung  the  dajfger  from  her 
hand,  and  trampled  it  to  bits  beneath  his  feet." 


y 


"/■ 


'//i 


from  her 


/^yd 


TALES 


/ 


OF  A 


GARRISON    TOWN 


BV 


ARTHUR   WENTWORTH   EATON 


AND 


CRAVEN   LANGSTROTH   BETTS 


NEW    YORK   AND   ST.    PAUL 

T^.    I).     MERRILL    COMPANY 

1892 


liv; 


CoPVmcMT     1899     BV 

ARTHUR   WENTWORTH    EATON 

AND 

CRAVEN  LANGSTROTH  BETTS. 


To 

ELIZABETH    B.    CUSTER, 

OUR  GENIAL  COMRADE   OF  THE   LITERARY  CRAFT. 
WE  DEDICATE  THESE 

Calc«  ot  a  <3arri0on  (Town. 


CONTENTS. 


How  Crossaway  Betrayed  His  Friend, 

The  Fall  of  the  Darcys, 

The  Story  of  Young  Gilsby, 

An  Increased  Allowance, 

Simpson  of  the  Slashers, 

How  Grosvenor  got  his  Church, 

Mrs.  Buckingham's  Revenge, 

The  Reverend  Washington  Ham's  Triumph 

Court-Martialled, 

Too  Truthful  Spirits,    . 

The  Corporal's  Trousers, 

Touched  with  the  Tar-Brush,      . 

Whigs  and  Tories, 

A  Soldier's  Funeral, 


I'AGB 
II     . 

29 

49 
67 
8x 

'97 
"3 
129 

147 

159 

173 

183 

215 

237 


TALES  OF  A  GARRISON  TOWN. 


HOW   CROSSAWAY   BETRAYED 
HIS  FRIEND. 


"  So  life's  year  begins  and  closes, 
Days  though  short'ning  still  can  shine. 
What  though  youth  gave  love  and  roses. 
Age  still  leaves  us  friends  and  wine." 

— MOORR. 


Tipton  was  only  three-and-twenty  when  he  came 
to  Halifax  with  the  Slashers.  He  had  gone  into  the 
army  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of  friendship.  His 
father  was  immensely  rich  and  could  afford  to  gratify 
any  of  his  son's  whims;  and  when  Jack  Crossaway, 
Tipton's  old  college  chum,  bought  a  commission  in 
the  Slashers,  Tipton  prevailed  on  his  father  to  do 
the  same  for  him.  Crossaway  was  three  years  the 
elder,  and  had  knocked  about  the  world  a  good  deal, 
while  his  friend  had  seen  little  of  life  outside  of 
school  and  college.  When  the  Slashers  left  South- 
ampton old  Tipton  came  down  from  London  to  see 

his   son  off.     Before    the    regiment   embarked    he 

II 


12 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


button-holed  Crossaway,  whom  he  knew  and  trusted, 
and  asked  him  to  lookout  that  no  designing  person 
should  get  Tip*on,  Junior,  into  his  clutches — "  for, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,'"  he  said,  "  Ned's  a  little  fresh 
yet."  Crossaway  readily  promised,  and  though  he 
never  told  his  friend  of  his  colloquy  with  the  old 
gentleman,  which  would  hardly  have  done,  he  kept  a 
silent  watch  over  Tipton.  That  young  man  was  not 
exactly  inclined  to  be  wild,  though  he  loved  fun, 
and  there  was  no  telling  what  he  would  do  under 
a  sudden  impulse.  He  had  a  lively  spirit,  and  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  a  large  bank  account  at  his 
back  made  him  at  times  rather  reckless  and  impru- 
dent. Crossaway  was  a  thorough  soldier,  a  born 
leader  of  men.  He  was  over  six  feet  in  height, 
splendidly  proportioned,  and  accounted  the  best 
swordsman  in  the  regiment.  He  cared  little  for 
society,  but  read  historical  and  military  works  con-  * 
tinually,  and  was  so  well  posted  that  Colonel  Pres- 
ton used  to  say  in  confidence  that  there  was  no 
officer  under  his  command  he  would  so  readily  trust 
in  an  emergency  or  consult  in  a  difficulty  as  Cross- 
away. The  latter  had  gained  his  captaincy  at  the 
time  of  the  regiment's  arrival  in  Halifax  while 
Tipton  was  still  first- lieutenant  The  reason  for 
that  was  that  Crossaway  had  made  a  business  of  his 
profession,  for  he  had  joined  for  life,  while  Tipton 


Hoiv  Crossaivay  Betrayed  his  Friend.       1 3 


had  entered  the  army  merely  to  be  with  Crossaway, 
and  intended  leaving  ihe  service  after  a  few  years. 
They  continued  to  be  chums  however,  and  Tipton 
often  carried  his  good-natured  friend  away  from  his 
studies  on  junketings  around  the  country,  on  which 
occasions  Crossaway  would  throw  off  his  graver  air 
and  be  as  much  of  a  boy  as  his  friend.  Crossaway 
was  fond  of  a  hard  gallop,  and  would  get  up  at  five 
in  the  morning  for  a  spin  on  horseback  around  the 
North  West  Arm,  and  come  back  to  quarters  hungry 
as  a  wolf  and  glowing  like  a  furnace.  Tipton, 
however,  was  more  of  a  sybarite,  and  did  not  like 
early  rising.  Crossaway  did  not  care  a  button  for 
the  fashionable   life  of  Halifax,  and  mixed  with  it 

ly  on  his  friend's  account,  who,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, was  inclined  to  flirt,  for  which  he  had  num- 
berless opportunities.  In  company  he  was  always 
the  centre  of  a  circle  of  young  ladies,  for  the  gold 
of  the  millionaire  cast  a  halo  around  the  head  of  the 
First-lieutenant.  In  fact,  he  divided  with  Simpson, 
of  Company  A,  and  Creighton,  the  dandy  of  the 
regiment,  a  large  share  of  the  favor  which  the  girls 
of  Halifax  bestowed  upon  the  Slashers. 

Crossaway,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  puzzle  to 
the  fair  sex.  At  times  he  would  be  marvellously 
brilliant  in  conversation,  and  throw  himself  heart 
and  soul  into  an  apparent  effort  to  please,  and  then 


U' 


:!l 


H 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


suddenly  would  grow  as  glum  and  unsociable  as 
a  Burmese  idol.  Women  who  had  been  delighted 
with  him  on  one  occasion  left  him  with  despairing 
perplexity  or  indignant  pique  at  another.  One 
could  never  be  sure  of  him  in  company,  for  he  never 
took  the  trouble  to  be  complacent  when  he  did  not 
feel  like  it.  Tipton  used  to  say  to  him  jokingly: 
"Jack,  if  you  would  only  keep  up  steam,  you  would 
run  away  from  us  all  with  the  women."  But  Cross- 
away  would  only  smile  under  his  mustache  and  hum: 

"  My  heart  s  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer  " — 

and  then  go  on  reading  Napier's  "Peninsular 
War,"  But  after  a  time  an  incident  occurred  which 
in  no  small  degree  affected  the  relation  of  these 
young  men  to  one  another. 

There  came  to  Halifax  one  day  a  Mrs.  Vermilye. 
She  was  a  widow,  though  quite  young — not  over 
thirty  at  most — and  beautiful.  She  had  the  air  and 
look  of  a  well-bred  Frenchwoman,  though  she  de- 
clared she  was  English.  Nobody  knew  her,  but  let- 
ters which  she  casually  showed  from  distinguished 
persons  abroad,  and  her  evident  acquaintance  with 
polite  society,  brought  her  recognition  in  the  best 
society  of  Halifax.  It  was  supposed  that  she  was 
wealthy,  but  nobody  knew  about  that,  as  Mrs.  Ver- 
milye never  spoke  of  her  finances.     She  soon  becdme 


How  Crossaway  Betrayed  his  Friend,  '     15 


acquainted  with  the  officers  of  the  garrison,  one  and 
all  of  whom  pronounced  her  charming.  She  had 
rooms  at  the  Beverly,  and  gave  delightful  little  re- 
ceptions, piquantly  French  in  tone.  She  was  a 
slender  brunette,  with  an  oval  face  and  dazzling 
black  eyes,  and  a  tinge  of  olive  in  her  complexion, 
and  with  a  beautiful  neck  and  arm,  which  she  took 
no  trouble  to  conceal. 

Now,  what  must  Tipton  do  but  fall  head  over 
ears  in  love  with  Mrs.  Vermilye.  From  the  moment 
that  he  first  put  eyes  upon  her  he  was  completely 
captivated.  To  him  she  was  Rosalind,  Ophelia, 
Desdemona,  and  Imogen  in  one.  He  exhausted  his 
vocabulary  in  praising  her,  raved  about  her  to  all 
the  garrison,  and  tired  Crossaway  to  death  by  singing 
her  charms.  He  haunted  the  Beverly  constantly, 
and  spent  money  lavishly  upon  his  inamorata. 
It  took  a  small  fortune  to  pay  his  bill  at  the  florist's 
alone.  He  was  a  devoted  slave  to  her  on  all  public 
occasions,  and  nobody  could  get  near  Mrs.  Vermilye 
without  stumbling  over  Tipton.  Crossaway  at  first 
seemed  to  take  but  little  notice  of  the  woman;  but 
the  truth  is,  he  watched  her  narrowly.  Then  he 
quietly  began  to  ask  questions  about  her. 

Suddenly  Crossaway  was  seen  on  the  streets  with 
Mrs.  Vermilye.  Then  it  was  rumored  that  a  rivalry 
had  sprung  up  between  him  and  Tipton  for  the  lady's 


i6 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


favor;  and  many  things  occurred  to  strengthen  the 
rumor.  Crossaway,  the  student;  Crossaway,  the 
nonchalant  man  of  the  world;  Crossaway,  the  stern 
soldier,  who  had  always  been  proof  against  the 
fascinations  of  women,  was  actually  attempting 
to  cut  out  his  friend,  and  by  appearances  seemed 
likely  to  be  successful. 

Tipton  at  first  regarded  this  move  of  the  Captain's 
as  one  of  his  whimsical  freaks,  but  he  soon  became 
alarmed.  Crossaway  gained  favor  rapidly,  for  he 
exerted  all  the  power  of  his  intellect  to  shine  in 
Mrs.  Vermilye's  eyes.  It  was  a  marvel  to  see  how 
the  usually  grave  and  matter-of-fact  fellow  went  on. 
He  appeared  in  high  spirits,  and  his  conversation 
became  brilliant  and  witty.  Mrs.  Vermilye  was 
simply  overwhelmed,  spell-bound  by  the  deferential 
yet  daring  manner  in  which  Crossaway  conducted 
his  campaign.  As  for  poor  Tipton,  he  was  distanced 
in  the  race  almost  from  the  start.  He  could  no 
longer  appear  at  his  best,  and  whenever  Crossaway 
was  present,  which  was  now  almost  always,  sulked 
in  silence.  Mrs.  Vermilye  at  first  seemed  disposed 
to  struggle  against  this  new  influence,  and  still  to 
countenance  Tipton,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Cross- 
away laughed  and  talked  Tipton  down  till  the  latter 
was  almost  beside  himself  with  vexation  and  de- 
spair.    Gradually,  with  a   burning  heart,  his  soul 


How  Crossnivay  Betrayed  his  Friend.       17 


full  of  bitterness  against  his  former  friend,  he 
was  driven  from  the  field  by  the  victorious  Cross- 
away.  The  inevitable  consequences  of  such  a 
rivalry  followed,  Tipton  broke  off  all  communi- 
cation with  Crossaway,  though  the  latter  strove  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  him.  In  fact,  one  of  the 
extraordinary  things  about  the  Captain  was  his  im- 
perturbable good  humor.  Despite  his  keen  compe- 
tition for  Mrs.  Vermilye's  favor,  he  always  treated 
Tipton  with  consideration  and  made  many  friendly 
advances  to  him.  These  Tipton  put  down  in  his 
account  against  Crossaway  as  impudent,  barefaced, 
deceitful.  At  length  things  reached  a  crisis.  Mrs. 
Vermilye  openly  cast  Tipton  off  and  showed  herself 
completely  under  the  influence  of  his  rival.  This 
determined  Tipton,  and  he  hung  moodily  about 
quarters  waiting  for  a  chance  for  revenge. 

A  pretext  for  a  quarrel  soon  occurred.  The  offi- 
cers of  the  Slashers  were  to  give  a  dinner,  at  the 
Halifax  Hotel,  to  one  of  their  comrades  who  was 
going  home  to  England  to  be  married.  It  was  to 
be  a  highly  convivial  affair,  and  each  officer  was  to 
pledge  the  would-be  Benedict  in  a  bumper  of  cham- 
pagne and  make  a  congratulatory  speech. 

The  evening  of  the  dinner  all  the  young  officers 
were  in  high  spirits,  except  Tipton,  who  sulked,  and 
would  do  nothing  to  help  the  thing  along,  except 


i8 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


ii 


to  pay  his  quota.  The  Colonel  presided,  and  the 
dinner  went  off  with  great  Mai.  After  a  number 
of  toasts  had  been  drunk,  the  Colonel  and  the  Major 
took  their  overcoats  and  went  home,  but  the  drink- 
ing and  speech-making  went  on.  Each  of  the  officers  ' 
had  to  respond  in  a  short  speech  as  his  health  was 
drunk.  Tipton  had  imbibed  freely,  tossing  off 
glass  after  glass  in  a  fierce,  reckless  manner,  and 
growing  noisier  every  minute.  At  length  it  came 
Crossaway's  turn  to  have  his  health  drunk.  Every 
one  drank  it  standing  as  usual,  except  Tipton,  who 
turned  his  glass  down.  "  Hang  it,  Tip,  don't  be  a 
fool!"  whispered  Addington,  who  sat  on  Tipton's 
right:  "fill  up  and  drink  Jack's  health  like  a  man." 
But  Tipton  never  budged.  He  stared  defiantly  at 
Crossaway  over  his  upturned  glass.  The  officers  of 
the  Slashers  had  been  true  to  one  another  through 
thick  and  thin,  and,  please  God,  would  continue  to 
be,  Crossaway  was  saying,  when  '*  You  lie!"  was  sud- 
denly shouted  from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  All 
eyes  were  instantly  turned  on  Tipton,  who  was  re- 
garding the  speaker  with  a  flushed  face  and  an  an- 
gry stare.  "Shame!  shame!"  was  heard  around  the 
board.  "The  devil.  Tip,"  muttered  Addington, 
nudging  the  Lieutenant  in  the  ribs,  'can't  you  keep 
your  quarrels  out  of  the  mess?  Shut  up,  why  dont 
you,  and  let  Jack  finish  his  speech."     Crossaway's 


How  Crossaway  Betrayed  his  Friend.       19 


cheek  turned  pale,  and  he  paused  for  a  few  seconds 
and  then  went  quietly  on  to  a  conclusion.  Rut  Tip- 
ton's angry  interruption  cast  a  damper  over  all.  As 
the  party  broke  up,  he  walked  forward  to  his  former 
friend,  who  was  putting  on  his  overcoat.  "I  will 
meet  you,  Captain  Crossaway,"  he  said,  "any  time 
or  anywhere  that  may  suit  your  convenience.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  waste  words;  we  understand  each 
other.  You  may  select  what  weapons  you  please." 
Crossaway  looked  at  him  earnestly  for  a  moment  or 
two,  then  bowed  coldly  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

"The  fellow  is  a  coward,"  saii  Tipton,  loud 
enough  for  the  Captain  to  hear.  At  the  last  word  the 
latter  wheeled  half  round,  and  a  couple  of  officers 
started  forward  to  prevent  a  scrimmage,  but  Crossa- 
way smiled  faintly,  turned  again  and  walked  away. 
"Blast  you.  Tip!  it's  a  wonder  Jack  didn't  put  his 
sword  through  you  for  that,"  grunted  Melville,  one 
of  the  interfering  officers;  "you  know  blamed  well 
that  Crossaway  is  no  coward,  and  why  do  you  try  to 
provoke  him  ?  If  it  came  to  cold  steel,  you  would 
be  but  a  baby  in  his  hands." 

"  Hold  your  tongue!"  retorted  Tipton  angrily,  and 
deigning  no  further  words  went  off  to  his  quarters. 

The  news  of  the  quarrel  got  abroad  and  was 
freely  commented  on.  The  opinion  of  most  of  the 
officers  was  against  Crossaway,  though  they  blamed 


30 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


r 


Tipton  for  his  intemperate  languag^e.  But  they  ex- 
cused him  in  their  hearts  on  the  ground  that  the 
provocation  had  been  great,  and  that  Tipton  had 
drunk  too  much  wine,  as  had  most  of  them.  To 
steal  a  fellow's  girl,  they  argued,  was  bad  form  and 
clearly  against  the  ethics  of  good  comradeship. 
Meanwhile  Tipton  did  not  fail,  whenever  possible, 
to  annoy  Crossaway  by  sneers  and  innuendoes;  but 
he  did  not  have  much  opportunity  for  these,  as  the 
Captain  studiously  avoided  him  and  kept  through 
all  an  impassive  countenance.  Even  the  other  offi- 
cers began  to  look  with  a  little  contempt  on  Cross- 
away  for  not  showing  some  spirit,  though  nobody 
really  believed  that  he  was  afraid  of  Tipton.  He 
still  continued  his  visits  to  Mrs.  Vermilye,  and  a 
report  got  about  that  the  two  were  engaged.  Tip- 
ton gnashed  his  teeth  and  waited  his  chance.  He 
would  catch  Crossaway  alone  some  time  and  force 
him  to  a  duel.  He  practised  assiduously  with  the 
rapier  until  he  was  sure  he  was  a  match  for  his  rival ; 
then  he  would  slip  olit  of  an  evening  with  a  pair  of 
rapiers  under  his  surtout  and  lie  in  wait  for  Crossa- 
way. It  was  some  time,  however,  before  he  got 
an  opportunity  for  a  meeting,  for  he  could  not  fight 
his  enemy  in  the  open  streets,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
Crossaway  would  carry  a  challenge  straight  to 
headquarters.     So  he  waited  and  watched  the  Bev- 


Hoiv  Crossaway  Betrayed  his  Friend.      21 


erly,  intent  on  forcing  the  quarrel  to  an  issue  as 
soon  as  possible. 

One  afternoon  Tipton  saw  the  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Vermilye  leave  the  hotel  for  a  walk.  They  took 
the  road  toward  Point  Pleasant,  and  he  followed 
them.  The  couple,  after  a  while,  entered  the  park 
and  were  lost  to  view.  He  hastened  on,  and  again 
saw  them  moving  off  toward  a  little-frequented  part 
of  the  grounds.  AVith  his  brain  on  fire  Tipton,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  the  trees,  drew  close  upon  them. 
At  length  he  noticed  Crossaway  halt  abruptly  and 
make  a  slight  gesture  with  his  hand,  at  which  the 
lady  paused  also.  There  seemed  to  be  a  surprised, 
perplexed  look  on  her  face.  The  Captain,  too, 
for  a  lover,  did  not  appear  to  be  over-gracious  in 
his  attention.  He  stood  calmly  facing  his  com- 
panion, with  the  nonchalance  which  of  old  he  was 
so  much  accustomed  to  assume.  Tipton  could  think 
of  nothing  but  that  his  hated  rival  stood  before  him. 
He  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  belt,  the  rapiers  in  his 
hands.  Then  he  moved  almost  close  enough  to 
touch  Crossaway  with  the  point  of  one  of  the  weap- 
ons. He  would  fight  his  enemy  in  the  presence  of 
the  woman  who  had  cast  him  off.  He  did  not  much 
care  which  should  be  killed,  he  or  the  Captain,  but 
he  ground  his  teeth  and  swore  to  himself  that  it 
should  be  one  or  the  other.     He  paused  for  a  min- 


22 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


si 


r 


ute,  however,  for  the  two  were  talking  earnestly, 
and  he  wanted  to  get  an  idea  of  how  far  the  relations 
between  Crossaway  and  the  lady  had  gone.  Mrs. 
Vermilye  was  speaking.  By  Heaven,  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes! 

"  You  are  very  cruel,  Captain,"  she  said  with  trem- 
ulous little  gasps,  and  with  that  peculiar  foreign  into- 
nation Tipton  had  thought  so  charming.  "  You  have 
forced  me  for  your  sake  to  throw  over  a  young  fellow 
who  loved  me,  and  now  you  yourself  have  suddenly 
turned  upon  me.      I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Vermilye;  you  know  you  did 
not  care  a  rush  for  Tipton.  It  was  only  the  boy's 
money  you  were  after.  You  have  told  me  so  in 
effect  a  dozen  times." 

"  But  I  cared  very  much  for  his  money,  you  sim- 
pleton!" said  the  lady  with  a  return  toward  her  old 
spirit.  "  I  have  given  the  best  proof  of  my  regard 
for  you  by  giving  it  all  up  when  the  young  fool  was 
in  my  power.  All  for  you,  Captain,  who  are  treat- 
ing me  now  so  shamefully.  Few  other  women 
would  have  made  the  sacrifice." 

"  And  few  men,  perhaps,  would  have  made  the 
sacrifice  for  a  friend  that  I  have  done,"  returned 
the  Captain  quietly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  The  lady  suddenly 
changed  color. 


How  Crossaway  Betrayed  his  Friend.      23 


"I  mean  this,  woman.  I  have  been  insulted, 
called  a  liar  and  a  coward  by  the  dearest  friend  I 
had,  for  the  sake  of  freeing  him  from  your  influence. 
I  know  your  history,  Mrs.  Vermilye.  I  have  been 
making  investigations  into  your  past  life,  and  I  find 
you  an  adventuress  of  the  worst  type." 

At  these  words  the  face  of  Mrs.  Vermilye  grew 
pale  as  death.  If  she  could  have  killed  Crossaway 
with  a  look,  he  would  have  fallen  dead  at  her  feet. 
She  threw  her  right  hand  up  to  her  breast,  which 
was  heaving  painfully,  and  as  Crossaway 'uttered  his 
last  word  she  gave  a  shrill  cry,  jerked  a  small  dag- 
ger  from  her  corsage,  and  quick  as  a  flash  sprang 
with  it  at  the  Captain.  But  he  deftly  caught  her  by 
the  wrist,  wrung  the  dagger  from  her  hand,  and 
trampled  it  to  bits  beneath  his  feet. 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  ground  and  began  to 
weep  hysterically.  He  waited  till  she  had  grown 
quieter. 

"You  will  leave  Halifax  in  twenty-four  hours, 
Mrs.  Vermilye,"  said  Crossaway  in  a  firm  and  quiet 
tone. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  an  angry  countenance. 
"I  will  not!"  she  cried  vehemently. 

"  Very  good.  Then  I  will  have  you  indicted  for 
forgery,  and  in  less  time  than  that  you  will  be  in 
jail.     Come,  I  am   inclined  to  be  merciful,  for  you 


24 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


are  a  rather  interesting  woman  despite  some  tigerish 
propensities.  But  I  must  put  you  beyond  the  reach 
of  further  mischief  here.  You  must  not  come  any 
nearer  Halifax  than  New  York.  I  will  have  you 
shadowed,  and  on  the  first  breach  of  faith  you  will 
be  arrested.  You  see  you  are  absolutely  in  my 
power. " 

"  You  are  an  inhuman  wretch!"  sobbed  the  widow. 

"  It  may  be  so,  but  I  am  a  true  friend,  and  you 
were  not  quite  smart  enough  in  your  game.  Mrs. 
Vermilye,  you  ruined  one  good  man,  but  you  shall 
not  ruin  Tipton.     Do  you  consent  ?" 

"  I  cannot  help  myself.  But  what  guarantee  have 
I  that  you  will  not  continue  to  persecute  me?" 

"  The  word  of  a  gentleman,  which  you  are  not  in 
a  position  to  doubt.  I  care  not  where  you  resume 
your  operations  so  long  as  you  leave  my  friends 
alone.  Come,  Mrs.  Vermilye,  we  understand  each 
other.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  hotel.  Please  take 
my  arm,  for  it  is  growing  dusk  and  the  distance  is 
considerable." 

Her  face  flushed.  "I  hate  you!"  she  said.  "I 
could  drive  that  dagger  to  your  heart  with  satisfac- 
tion, but  you  are  worth  as  much  more  in  brains  than 
that  shallow  fool,  Tipton,  as  he  is  worth  in  cash 
more  than  you." 

"You  win  oblige  me  by  making  no  reflections," 


(1 


.LL 


Haw  Crossaway  Betrayed  his  Friend.      25 

answered  the  Captain,  raising  his  cap  with  a  defer- 
ential smile. 

She  made  a  spiteful   little  moue  at  him,  but  took 
his  arm  and  they  walked  off  toward  the  city. 


That  evening  Captain  Crossaway,  with  a  "hot 
Scotch"  before  him,  was  writing  a  letter,  when  he 
was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  and  there  stood  Tipton. 

"Damn  it.  Jack,  forgive  me!"  said  the  latter  in 
a  husky  voice,  standing  motionless  in  the  doorway. 

"Forgive  you.  Tip?  Come  in,  you  rascal!" 
Crossaway's  face  was  radiant.  "Hang  it,  boy! 
don't  look  so  shamefaced.  The  best  of  us  get  fooled 
sometimes,  particularly  with  women.  Take  old 
Weller's  advice.  Tip,  *bevare  of  the  vidders. '  How 
did  you  get  your  eyes  opened  ?" 

"I  heard  it  all,"  replied  Tipton,  looking  down. 

"Tip,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  of  you!" 

"  I  had  a  pair  of  rapiers  with  me.  I  was  going 
to  force  you  to  fight  me,  so  I  followed  you  out. 
What  a  confounded  fool  I  was!" 

"I  see.  Poor  chap!  Don't  blubber,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  Tip!  I  knew  it  would  all  come  right  in  the 
end.  You're  cured,  aren't  you?  No  more  Mrs. 
^'^enus  for  Mars,  hey?  Well,  well,  I  was  bitten  my- 
self once  almost  as  badly  as  you  have  been,  and 


26 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Tozvn. 


took  longer  to  find  out  my  mistake;  I'll  tell  you 
about  it  some  day.  So  you  see  I  can  feel  for  you, 
my  boy.  Ton  my  word,  Tip,  if  that  woman  had 
had  a  right  training,  hang  me  if  I  wouldn't  have  cut 
you  out  in  earnest.  Begad,  sir,  I'd  have  married 
her.  She's  got  brains — plenty  of  'em — and  a  devil- 
ish fine  figure.  But  whew — she's  a  Tartar!  Did 
you  see  the  dagger  business?  I  half-suspected  she 
had  something  of  that  kind  about  her.  It  wasn't 
show;  the  little  vixen  meant  it.  And  now  we'll 
cement  the  peace  with  a  good  glass  of  hot  whiskey. 
Come,  Tip,  drink  to  the  health  of  Mrs.  Vermilye, 
and  may  she  have  a  safe  and  pleasant  journey  to 
New  York!" 

Crossaway  filled  his  friend  a  bumper  of  the  smok- 
ing liquor  and  drew  a  chair  to  the  table.  Tipton 
sat  down  and  grasped  Crossaway's  outstretched 
hand.  For  a  minute  the  two  men  looked  at  each 
other;  then  they  touched  glasses  and  drank  to  Mrs, 
Vermiiye's  health. 


I 


t 


'ux. 


el  I  you 
or  you, 
m  had 
ive  cut 
larried 
devil- 
Did 
■d  she 
i^asn't 
we'll 
skey. 
lilye, 
2y  to 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  DARCYS. 


rM 


i>       i 


i 


(I 


Ml 


I 


THE   FALL  OF  THE  DARCYS. 


*'  Down  the  old  house  goc« !  " 

— E.  C.  Stedman. 


The  lines  of  social  distinction  are  nowhere  more 
arbitrarily  drawn  than  in  English  garrison  towns. 
This  is  certainly  true  of  Halifax.  Its  first  families 
have  always  been  as  secure  in  their  superiority  to 
common  humanity  as  the  English  nobility  them- 
selves. In  pride  that  distinguished  gentleman, 
Lucifer  himself,  could  not  have  excelled  the  Darcys. 
The  family  was  launched  into  greatness  in  Sir  John 
Wentworth's  time,  its  founder,  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  having  enjoyed  the  favor  of  His  Royal 
Highness  the  Duke  of  Kent  when  that  distin- 
guished personage  held  his  court  at  the  Prince's 
Lodge,  near  Bedford;  and  having  been  honored  with 
the  especial  notice  of  the  Duke's  companion,  the 
vivacious  Madame  de  St.  Laurent. 

This  man  became  a  successful  merchant,  and  before 
his  death  amassed  a  large  fortune,  which,  descend- 
ing to  his  children  and  grandchildren,  enabled  them 
to  live  quite  as  people  of  such  distinguished  ancestry 

should  have  lived,  with  butlers,  coachmen,  footmen, 

29 


30 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


\\     it 


cooks  and  valets  innumerable.  For  the  latest  Dar- 
cys  there  was  indeed  almost, no  society  in  Halifax 
good  enough.  Only  the  officers  of  the  army  and 
navy  were  considered  by  them  at  all  worthy  of  full 
social  recognition.  That  old  and  very  respectable 
visitor,  Death,  would  have  been  tolerated  only  by 
reason  of  his  complete  insensibility  to  slights.  If 
there  was  any  one's  door  he  would  have  been  afraid 
to  enter,  it  surely  would  have  been  theirs.  Yet 
when  they  deigned  to  unbend  they  could  be  most 
agreeable,  and  could  dispense  hospitality  in  a  gra- 
cious and  lordly  way.  Their  family  arms  were 
stamped  on  all  their  possessions,  from  lodge-gates 
to  table-napkins.  Their  coach  was  decorated  with 
the  familiar  heraldric  device.  I  am  not  sure  but 
that  their  wine-cellar  contained  eighteenth-century 
Burgundy  and  Johannisburg.  And  yet,  with  the 
force  of  their  favorite  tradition  behind  them  and 
with  the  possession  of  large  wealth  to  lift  them 
above  "the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune," 
they  were  destined  to  meet  with  a  "  sea  of  troubles," 
against  which  they  would  be  unable  successfully  to 
take  arms.  After  the  death  of  Mr.  Howard  Darcy, 
who  had  increased  the  family  fortune  by  a  large 
and  lucrative  shipping  and  commission  business,  the 
property  was  divided  among  a  number  of  sons,  all 
of  whom  kept  up  in  their  respective  households  the 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


31 


same  lavish  expenditure  as  their  father  before  them 
had  done.  Mr.  Archibald  Darcy,  the  second  son, 
inherited  the  old  family  mansion,  and  shortly  after 
coming  of  age  married  the  daughter  of  an  English 
barrister,  named  Carstairs,  who  was  more  exclu- 
sive even  than  the  family  into  which  she  had  mar- 
ried. There  was  but  one  child  from  this  union,  a 
daughter  named  Ethel,  for  whom  her  parents  in- 
tended a  distinguished  career.  She  was  carefully 
educated  abroad,  and  though  of  a  sweet  and  charm- 
ing disposition,  inherited  not  a  little  of  the  family 
pride.  After  her  return  from  boarding-school,  she 
met  one  evening  at  a  party  a  young  bookkeeper, 
named  John  McPherson,  the  son  of  respectable 
Scotch  parents  in  Prince  Edward  Island.  But  the 
blind  archer,  who  is  ever  upsetting  the  plans  of  cut- 
and-dried  wisdom  and  running  us  counter  to  our 
prejudices  and  traditions,  was  unluckily  also  present, 
with  his  arrow  at  the  bent.  Ethel  and  John  McPher- 
son at  first  sight  were  mutually  attracted,  and  the 
pride  of  the  Carstairs'  and  Darcys  threatened  to  be- 
come but  a  paper  shield  between  them  and  the  ple- 
beian McPhersons.  The  young  man  was  a  bright  fel- 
low, in  every  way  worthy  except  that  he  was  not  in  the 
Darcys'  set.  But  when  he  ventured  to  call  on  Ethel 
at  her  father's  house  he  saw  only  Mrs.  Darcy,  who 
sent  him  off  with  what  is  popularly  known  as  "  a  flea 


32 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


in  his  ear."  Ethel  was  strictly  enjoined  under  no 
ci:cumstances  to  recognize  Mr.  McPherson  again, 
and  as  she  had  been  taught  always  totegard  the 
family  view  of  things  as  law,  she  tearfully  assented. 

Young  McPherson  was  a  lad  of  spirit.  He  took 
every  convenient  opportunity  to  meet  Ethel,  and 
persistently  followed  up  his  suit,  until  the  irate  fa- 
ther threatened  to  horsewhip  him.  Ethel,  becom- 
ing alarmed,  sent  him  a  note  begging  him  as  a 
gentleman  to  cease  his  attention,  and  saying  that 
she  had  irrevocably  decided  to  obey  her  parents. 
This  was  a  floorer  tb  puor  McPherson,  who  moped 
a  good  deal  at  first,  then  packed  his  trunk  for  New 
York,  where  he  had  an  uncle  in  business,  and  so 
was  seen  no  more  in  Halifax. 

But  the  Darcys  began  to  lose  money.  Mr.  Ar- 
chibald invested  in  speculations  and  lost  a  great 
deal  of  his  property.  An  expensive  lawsuit  further 
wasted  it,  and  his  growing  habits  of  dissipation  did 
the  rest.  The  other  branches  of  the  family  were 
almost  equally  unfortunate.  After  eight  years  of 
reckless  expenditure  and  bad  business  management 
Mr.  Darcy  died,  insolvent.  The  famous  old  family 
mansion,  in  which  four  generations  of  the  Darcys 
had  lived  and  died,  was  sold  under  the  hammer,  and 
was  bought  in  by  a  Halifax  lawyer  for  a  client  in 
New  York,  who  intended  it  for  a  summer  residence. 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


33 


After  the  sale  the  lawyer  called  upon  Mrs.  Darcy, 
and  said  that  as  his  client  did  not  want  then  to  take 
possession  he  had  offered  to  let  her  remain  in  the 
house,  not  caring  either  to  have  it  lie  empty  or  be 
occupied  by  people  who  might  deface  it  and  injure 
the  grounds.  The  lawyer  further  said  that  the 
owner  prescribed  no  conditions,  and  that  Mrs.  Darcy 
would  be  free  to  come  and  go  as  she  pleased,  and  to 
use  the  property  as  if  it  were  still  her  own. 

Mrs.  Darcy's  haughty  head  was  thrown  back,  and 
all  her  pride  flashed  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  the 
lawyer. 

"You  may  tell  your  client,"  she  said  with  frigid 
emphasis,  "  that  my  daughter  and  I  can  accept  noth- 
ing from  him;  that  his  offer  is  highly  impertinent," 
and  she  bowed  the  astonished  lawyer  out  of  the  room. 

But  pride  will  rarely  content  the  butcher  and 
baker — two  individuals  of  a  dreadfully  democratic 
♦stripe  who  may  be  kept  in  the  background  when 
money  is  plenty,  but  who  always  come  to  the  front 
when  money  is  scarce.  The  Halifax  butcher  and 
baker  and  their  brother  tradesmen  were  more  in- 
exorable than  even  the  pride  of  the  Darcys,  and 
the  claims  of  long  descent  were  of  little  account 
in  satisfying  the  claims  of  present  necessity.  Mrs. 
Darcy  and  Ethel,  with  sorrowful  hearts,  packed  their 
now  slender  belongings  and  set  out  for  New  York, 
3 


34 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison    Town. 


where  they  had  a  number  of  relations.  These,  in 
lime  of  the  Darcys'  prosjH'rity,  had  received  individ- 
ually and  collectively  the  cold  shoulder,  and  they 
therefore  did  not  now  welcome  the  mother  and 
daughter  with  any  extravagant  enthusiasm.  The 
snubs  long  ago  given  were  in  some  instances  re- 
turned, and  they  told.  Mrs.  Darcy  got  back  with 
full  interest  all  the  slights  she  had  put  upon  her 
humbler  relatives.  In  dudgeon  she  stopped  com- 
munication with  them  all,  and  the  big  modern 
IJabylon  swallowed  her  and  her  daughter.  They 
drifted  into  a  (luarter  where  decayed  respect- 
ability still  held  a  serried  front  against  in- 
vading Jews  and  Italians.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  enter  into  a  detailed  account  of  their  hard- 
ships. Piece  by  piece  their  jewelry  went,  their  fine 
clothes  wore  out,  and  they  came  down  to  what  is 
known  as  "hard-pan."  Whatever  they  could  get  to 
do  they  did.  They  copied  manuscripts,  they  ad- 
dressed envelopes,  they  sewed  at  all  kinds  of  arti- 
cles, from  a  baby's  shirt  to  a  stage-curtain.  Their 
view  was  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  dusty  street  and 
on  the  other  by  a  paved  court  usually  fdled  with 
drying  clothes.  "  Croton"  regaled  them  instead  of 
"  Johannisburg,"  and  meat  twice  a  week  became  a 
luxury.  It  was  tough,  but  human  nature  has  great 
staying  qualities.     It  is  wonderful  how  easily  ne- 


wi 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


35 


cessity  teaches  us  to  adapt  ourselves  to  circum- 
stances. 

One  clay  they  saw  an  advertisement  in  a  paper  for 
a  decorative  painter  on  china.  Ethel  had  a  natural 
j;ift  for  such  work  and  had  been  well  trained  in  it; 
l)iit  the  women,  ignorant  how  to  seek  such  employ- 
niLMt,  had  hitherto  been  unsuccessful  in  obtaining  it. 
Mrs.  Darcy  answered  the  letter  for  her  daughter,  with 
little  hojie  of  a  favorable  reply.  To  her  surprise 
and  joy  an  answer  was  returned,  requesting  Ethel 
to  call  at  a  well-known  establishment  in  Broadway. 

Mrs.  Darcy,  who  always  conducted  the  outside 
business,  as  she  wished  to  shield  her  daughter  from 
the  world  of  trade,  entered  the  office  of  the  firm  with 
a  fast-beating  heart.  A.  tall,  bearded  man  received 
her  and  respectfully  handed  her  a  chair.  The  busi- 
ness was  entered  into  and  a  commission  was  readily 
obtained,  the  terms  of  payment  being  surprisingly 
liberal.  The  man  appeared  a  little  constrained,  and 
once  or  twice  glanced  at  her  keenly.  At  first  she 
paid  little  attention  to  this,  but  finally  his  answer 
to  one  of  her  questions  rather  startled  her.  She  had 
asked,  for  future  reference,  his  name.  He  hesitated 
a  moment,  and  then  said,  looking  at  her  squarely, 
"John  McPherson."  If  he  had  said  "  Mr.  McPher- 
son"  or  "  McPherson"  she  might  not  have  noticed 
his  significant  tone,  but  "  John  McPherson"  recalled 


36 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


Ethel's  old  lover  to  her  mind  in  an  instant.  She 
looked  sharply  at  him,  and  felt  sure  that  it  was  he — 
only,  of  course,  bearded  and  grown  older-looking. 
Their  eyes  met  in  mutual  recognition,  yet  neither 
spoke  a  word.  Eight  years,  insult,  and  family 
pride  lay  between  them.  Mrs.  Darcy's  color  rose 
and  she  turned  to  the  door.  Mr.  McPherson  opened 
it  with  ceremonious  politeness.  She  bowed  as 
haughtily  as  in  the  proudest  day  of  her  prosperity 
and  walked  away. 

Ethel  was  overjoyed  at  the  new  employment.  She 
had  been  ailing  and  was  pale  and  thin,  but  this  con- 
genial work  brightened  her  amazingly.  Her  mother, 
however,  had  far  different  feelings.  She  hated  to 
go  back  to  Burgess  and  Company's.  "  Why  ?"  asked 
Ethel. 

"He — the  manager  there — is  not  a  gentleman," 
snapped  her  mother. 

"What  is  his  name?" 

Her  mother  did  not  answer  the  question.  She 
said  she  would  try  and  get  Ethel  work  at  some  of 
the  other  chin^-stores.  Ethel  said  no  more,  but  re- 
solved to  go  herself  to  Burgess  and  Company's  and 
relieve  her  mother  of  a  distasteful  duty.  Her  mother, 
however,  insisted  on  taking  the  plates  back  herself. 
"Better  I  than  you,"  was  the  only  reason  she  would 
give  to  Ethel. 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys, 


37 


Mrs.  Darcy  came  back  with  an  increase  of  pay. 
"The  man  evidently  thinks  we  are  paupers,"  she  said 
pettishly,  throwing  the  money  into  Ethel's  lap. 
"  He  insisted  on  paying  double — said  that  the  work 
was  so  good  that  he  could  not  offer  less.  It  is  a 
mere  pretence  to  put  us  under  obligation." 

This  speech  of  her  mother's  puzzled  Ethel.  The 
unknown  man  who  paid  so  liberally,  and  yet  was  no 
gentleman,  excited  her  curiosity.  "Well,  mother," 
she  said,  "you  know  I  do  paint  well,  and  I  did  the 
plates  very  carefully.  I  really  believe  they  were 
better  done  than  those  that  most  china-artists  do." 
Her  mother  only  said,  "I  don't  want  to  go  back 
again  if  I  can  help  it." 

The  next  day  Ethel  quietly  put  on  her  hat  and 
went  to  Burgess  and  Company's.  She  had  a  good 
excuse,  for  her  mother  was  not  feeling  well.  The  girl 
was  shown  into  the  manager's  office,  but  that  person 
had  just  gone  out.  She  wished  she  had  asked  for 
his  name,  and  was  about  to  question  a  clerk,  when 
the  manager  himself  entered.  Ethel  glanced  up  and 
their  eyes  met.  There  w  is  an  eager,  expectant  look 
in  the  man's  face,  and  in  an  instant  she  recognized 
him.  It  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  betray  her  sur- 
prise. The  blood  of  the  Darcys  flew  to  her  face, 
and  then  left  it  paie  again,  but  her  family  pride 
rallied  to  her  aid.     He  should  not  think  that  she 


38 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


was  come  there  to  beg  a  favor  of  him.  Each  felt 
the  position  keenly,  but  neither  made  a  sign  of  rec- 
ognition. Ethel  strove  to  look  calmly  past  his 
shoulder.  As  he  waited  for  her  to  speak  she  said: 
"  I  have  come  here  for  more  plates,  in  place  of  Mrs. 
Darcy." 

McPherson  bowed  without  a  word.  She  saw  by 
a  side-long  glance  that  he  bit  his  lip,  and  that  his 
brow  darkened.  "Is  your  mother  ill?"  he  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"  Mrs.  Darcy  is  not  very  well  to-day." 

He  said  no  more,  but  went  and  selected  the  plates 
with  his  own  hands,  brought  them  into  the  office, 
and  carefully  wrapped  them  in  paper.  She  put  out 
her  hands  to  take  them,  but  he  said:  "  I  will  send 
a  boy  with  these  to  your  house.  They  are  too 
heavy  for  you."  He  was  looking  at  her  pale  cheeks 
and  the  thinness  of  her  hands. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  simply,  without  looking 
at  him,  and  bowed  slightly  as  she  stepped  out  of 
the  office. 

The  boy  trotted  along  by  her  side  carrying  the 
plates. 

"How  do  you  like  Mr.  McPherson?"  she  asked 
of  him. 

"  How  do  I  like  him?  He's  a  daisy!  He  minds 
his  business  and  lets  you  mind  yours.     I've  always 


i 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


39 


found  him  as  square  as  a  nail,"  said  Young  America, 
shifting  his  burden  to  the  other  arm. 

Ethel  smiled.     "But  is  he  kind  and  pleasant?" 

"Yes,  miss,  that's  his  failin'.  He's  too  all-fired 
kind.  Lets  all  the  old  men  and  women  beggars 
gull  him.  He's  soft  as  a  girl.  I'd  clear  'em  out 
quick.  An'  they  say  he's  awful  learned  and  writes 
for  the  papers.  I've  seen  some  of  it,  but  I  can't 
make  it  out.  Give  me  a  bully  story — that's  what  I 
like." 

"  Is — is  he  married  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  miss!  I  heard  his  uncle — him  as  owns 
the  store — say  somethin'  about  his  gettin' spliced; 
but  Mr.  McPherson  he  only  half  laughed  and  said 
he  hadn't  got-  any  time.  But  I  guess  that's  all 
blow.     I  know  I  would  if  I  was  him." 

"Indeed!  and  who  would  you  marry?" 

"You,  miss,"  answered  the  audacious  urchin  with 
a  sly  grin. 

"Come,  sir,  don't  be  impertinent,"  said  the  young 
lady  severely,  with  a  quicker  step  and  a  heightened 
color. 

"You  asked  me,  and  why  shouldn't  I  answer?" 
grumbled  the  boy. 


"  Mother,"  said   Ethel,  as  she   entered,  "how  do 
you  feel  ?" 


'     i 


I  I 


I  i 


40 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


"Better,    thank    you,    Ethel.     Where   have    you 

been  ?" 

"To  Burgess  and  Company's." 

"And  you  carried  back  all  those  plates?" 

"  No.     Mr.  McPherson    sent  a  boy   to   the   door 

with  them.     Isn't  it  strange  to  meet  him  there  ?" 
"Then    you    renewed    acquaintance    with    him, 

Ethel  ?"  asked  her  mother  sharply. 

"No;  I  did  not  give  him  any  chance  to  recognize 


me. 


Quite  right!  You  must  not  go  there  again, 
Ethel." 

It  was  Ethel's  turn  to  say  nothing. 

Mrs.  Darcy  grew  worse  again  that  evening.  Two 
days  elapsed  before  Ethel  could  take  back  any  of 
the  new  plates  she  had  painted. 

She  met  Mr.  McPherson,  and  they  bowed  cere- 
moniously to  each  other. 

"Is  Mrs.  Darcy  still  ill?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Worse  ?" 

"Somewhat  worse,  I  think." 

McPherson  did  not  answer,  but  his  brow  con- 
tracted. He  evidently  wished  to  say  something 
more,  but  Ethel's  repellant  manner  deterred  him. 
He  showed  her  out  with  as  much  ceremony  as  at  her 
first  visit,  but  there  seemed  a  compassionate  gentle- 


I 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


41 


ness  in  his  manner  not  apparent  before.  The  sense 
of  it  set  her  cheeks  in  a  flame.  She  hurried  away 
lest  he  should  observe  her  embarrassment. 

That  evening,  while  Mrs.  Darcy  was  sleeping,  there 
came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  a  basket  of  fruit  and 
other  delicacies  was  handed  in. 

"This  is  not  for  us?"  said  Ethel  to  the  grocer's 
boy. 

"Yes,  'tis,  miss.  The  gentleman  give  p'tic'lar 
d'rections." 

"  Did  he  send  his  name?" 

"No,  miss." 

"  You  may  take  these  back ;  we  do  not  want 
them." 

"Can't,  miss;  my  boss  'ud  be  mad.  'Sides,  I  got 
a  lot  o'  other  things  to  deliver.  Can't  carry  these 
all  'round  this  time  o'  night." 

"Very  well.     Leave  them  here." 

Next  day  she  called  at  Burgess  and  Company's. 

"  Here  are  the  rest  of  the  plates,"  she  said.  She 
paused,  and  then  added  with  a  flush  on  her  cheek: 
"There  came  a  basket  of  fruit  to  us  last  night;  I 
presume  we  have  to  thank  you  for  it." 

He  smiled.     "  How  is  Mrs.  Darcy  to-day?" 

"She  is  not  any  better,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  May  1  send  my  physician — a  very  excellent  one, 
I  can  assure  you  ?"  he  asked  somewhat  diffidentl) , 


42 


Tales  of  a  Garrison    Toivn, 


"  No,  thank  you.     I  do  not  think  she  needs  one 
yet." 

"  May  I  not  send  around  to-ni.i^ht  to  see  if  any- 
thing is  wanted?" 

"Please  do  not  trouble  yourself,"  she  answered  a 
little  haughtily,  and  walked  off. 

She  had  not  gone  ten  steps  before  she  repented  of 
her  words.  She  came  back  and  said,  with  a  slight 
effort  and  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
I  do  not  wish  to  appear  rude  or  ungrateful.  I  believe 
there  is  nothing  you  can  do  for  us." 

l-Tcr  own  words  seemed  to  strike  back  upon  her. 
T'lc  "lemjry  of  all  the  misery  she  and  her  mother 
had  end'i"':^''!  for  the  last  year  rushed  upon  her  and 
t;»ok  'hj  s.  tijrth  out  of  her.  She  sat  down  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  tears  trickled 
from  between  her  fingers,  but  she  made  not  a  sound. 
There  was  perfect  stillness  in  the  little  room.  It 
was  anguish  to  be  humiliated  in  this  way  before 
him,  but  for  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  restrain 
her  tears.  Suddenly  a  light,  timid  touch  fell  upon 
her  shoulder.  The  sobs  that  she  had  kept  back  till 
that  moment,  at  the  touch  of  his  hand,  shook  her 
uncontrollably,  and  with  a  streaming  face  she  made 
an  effort  to  rise  and  hide  her  mortification.  But  he 
took  her  two  hands  tenderly  and  drew  her  toward 
him. 


The  Fall  of  the  Darcys. 


43 


"Ethel,"  he  said.  Gentle  reproach,  uiulying 
love,  all  those  longf  years  of  waiting,  struck  in  that 
one  word  to  her  heart.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his 
face  with  the  trust  and  adoration  of  a  saved  soul  to 
its  benefactor,  and  he  clasped  her  to  his  breast. 


It  was  June,  the  latter  part  of  June — the  time 
when,  in  these  days,  summer  tourists  crowd  into  the 
old  rusty,  rock-based  capital  of  the  Acadian  province 
by  the  sea.  The  tall  flag-staff  of  the  citadel  stood 
like  a  bare  ship's  mast  against  the  star-lit  sky.  The 
echoes  of  the  sunset-gun  that  every  native  Haligonian 
has  heard  each  day  since  he  was  born  had  long 
ceased,  and  the  gas-lights  on  Granville  and  HoUis 
Streets  flared  and  flickered  in  the  soft  breeze  that 
blew  up  the  narrow  side  streets  from  the  dingy 
wharves.  On  the  wharf  of  the  Cromwell  Line  a 
mixed  crowd  were  watching  the  red  lights  of  the 
New  York  steamer  as  she  moved  up  past  George's 
Island  to  her  weekly  landing-place.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  puff  of  the  engine  and  the  plunge 
of  the  paddles,  until  the  ghostly  outline  was  close 
upon  them.  On  deck,  a  little  way  removed  from 
the  throng  of  passengers,  were  three  persons — a 
young  couple,  who  stood  arm  in  arm,  and  a  tall, 
elderly  woman,  with  marks  of  recent  sorrow  and 
sickness  on   her  face.      In   a  few  minutes  they  had 


44 


^'"''  "^  "  (^"rrison   To-^n. 


'anded.  and  entering  one  of  .h 
-"o-  clamorous  Jehus  vZtl  "'""'"^'"'=  ""^ 
reamer,  were  rapidly  <lrive„    rr       ^'"*'"'"^  "^  'he 
-•'^  «-ed  past  'he  wi  do:        ,    ''''"=  "^'"^  "'  "•«= 
^«  -  went  the  cab.     Wh"   T  ""="  '^^'  '>«'""''. 
^^c'^imed  the  younger  wol       '  ""  ^°'"^'  J"""'" 
darkness.     "  We  are  cer"""'  T'""  "^  '"'"  '"« 
'"«^'-     Are  you  sure  t         J' '"""^  "^^  P-t  the 
^'>;'  ?"  ""  ""^  ^"'^'"an   understood 

""l^e.?,  Ethel,"  saiV!   t  i 
there.-  '    "'''  J"""    l-etly;  'Ve   are  just 

At  that  moment  the  cah  f 

shadow  of  a  narrow,  overah."?""    '"'"    '"«   "^^p 
either  Mrs    n=  "^^^arched  driveway  and  h.f 

™>-s.  Darcy  or  Ethel  hnri  ,•  '"'^"™ 

""""•on,  tl,e   briliian.J'  7, '■'"''•' ''^''another 
"'f  "ome  confronted  them  '  ""''"^^   °^  "'-> 

"«-ause,"said7oh    'wt"'      "''^^^^" 
/-Oey  went  up  ,,,  ,;  J  ;;;"-- hou.se." 

"^w  open,  and  old  Simon    tlT>''  '"'"■''°°'- 

l^'vering  With  emotion  Cr  ""*"'  ^°-e 

"^'esstheLord-th'n?     °""''"'^■"• 
-47.;hee.claimed'i::,:^----'o 


The  hall  of  the  Darcys. 


45 


mahogany  furniture  flashed  back  from  its  rich  polish 
the  blaze  of  the  light  fire  that  had  been  kindled  for 
their  reception.  The  family  portraits  looked  down 
their  welcome  from  the  walls.  The  sideboard  glit- 
tered with  the  ancient  Darcy  plate.  Even  Brian, 
the  great  mastiff,  Ethel's  old  companion,  from  whom 
she  had  parted  with  bitter  tears,  and  whose  care  she 
had  unwillingly  committed  to  the  family  of  a  gar- 
dener on  the  place,  sprang  up  to  meet  them,  his  in- 
telligent eyes  gleaming  with  joy. 

Ethel  turned,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 
"You  dear  old  John!"  was  all  she  said,  as  she  flung 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  passion- 
ately. 

Mrs.  Darcy  stood  for  a  minute  with  her  back  to 
the  young  couple.  Then  she  turned,  and  with  a 
voice  whose  tremor  she  strove  vainly  to  conceal, 
said  slowly,  with  an  air  of  blended  pride  and  humil- 
ity: "John  McPherson,  you  are  well  revenged!" 


V.'l 


THE  STORY  OF  YOUNG  GILSBY. 


THE  STORY  OF  YOUNG  GILSBY. 


*'  What  a  stranKc  thinK  is  man  ! 
And  what  a  stranKt'r  in  woman  ! 
What  a  whirlwind  is  her  htad 
And  what  a  whirlp<M)l,  full  of  depth  and  dan^^cr, 
Is  all  the  rest  about  her  !  " 

—  HVRON. 

"  When  a  pretty  woman  Inii^^hs,  it  is  certain  that  a  purse  complaini."— 
Italian  Pkovekii. 

The  Slashers  having  left  Halifax  for  Bermuda, 
their  place  was  taken  by  the  Derby  Rifles,  who  had 
recently  been  sent  aome  from  Capetown.  A  young 
South  African,  named  Gilsby,  had  accompanied  them 
from  the  Cape  to  England,  and  then  to  Halifax.  He 
was  the  son  <  a  rich  and  prosperous  ostrich-breeder 
who  had  recently  died  and  left  his  property  to  the 
young  man,  who  had  thus  become  sole  heir  to  a  con- 
siderable business.  In  Africa  young  Gilsby  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  number  of  the  officers 
of  the  Derby  Rifles,  and  so  strong  was  his  regard 
for  them  that  when  the  regiment  was  ordered  home 
he  resolved  to  accompany  them.  He  sold  the  os- 
trich-farm at  a  sacrifice,  and,  with  all  his  property 
converted  into  cash,  went  forth  with  a  joyful  heart 

to  see  the  world.     When  the  Rifles  reached  Halifax 
4  49 


U  I 


50 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison    Toivn. 


I 


Gilsby  put  up  at  the  Halifax  Hotel,  occupying  two 
of  its  best  rooms.  There  never  was  a  fellow  more 
bent  on  enjoying  life  than  Gilsby.  He  gave  suppers 
to  the  officers  of  the  army  and  navy  and  the  men 
about  town,  grew  wildly  intoxicated  with  the  social  ' 
gayeties  of  the  civilians,  and  entered  into  cricket 
and  tennis  with  the  zest  of  a  neophyte.  In  short, 
all  was  fish,  in  the  way  of  pleasure,  which  came  to 
Gilsby's  net.  He  was  a  fair  musician,  a  very  good 
amateur  actor,  and  did  some  excellent  shooting,  in 
which  latter  accomplishment  he  had  had  splendid 
practice  in  South  Africa.  A  fortunate  star  seemed 
to  have  shone  on  Gilsby's  birth,  for  he  was  twenty- 
three,  good-looking,  wealthy,  and  had  not  a  care  in 
the  world.  Under  such  conditions  most  people  im- 
agine they  could  enjoy  life.  So  did  Gilsby.  But 
we  shall  see. 

Just  three  months  before  the  Derby  Rifles  came 
to  Halifax,  a  lady  had  put  up  at  the  Halifax  Hotel — 
a  Mrs.  Lydia  Buckingham,  the  grass-widow  of  an 
attachd  oi  the  British  Legation  at  Washington.  The 
uncertainty  of  her  matrimonial  relations,  together 
with  one  or  two  rumors  of  a  somewhat  compromis- 
ing sort  regarding  her,  kept  the  most  respectable 
people  of  Halifax  from  calling  upon  Mrs.  Bucking- 
ham. She  was,  however,  a  general  favorite  with 
the  fashionable  men  of  the  town  and  the  officers  of 


The  Story  oj   Young  Gilsby. 


51 


the  Rifles.  Never  since  the  disappearance  of  Mrs. 
Vermilyefrom  Halifax  had  one  woman  been  so  con- 
stantly the  theme  of  conversation  as  was  she.  The 
two  women,  however,  were  entirely  unlike.  While 
Mrs.  Vermilye  was  dark,  slender,  and  vivacious, 
Mrs.  Buckingham  was  a  generous  blonde,  with  a 
bust  like  Juno's  and  a  carriage  stately  as  1  iana's. 
Her  large  brown  eyes  wore  the  most  innocent  ex- 
pression possible,  and  her  movements  were  usually 
deliberate,  often  languid.  She  looked  like  a  Saxon, 
but  a  certain  richness  of  tint  in  the  gold  of  her  hair, 
the  lithe  grace  of  her  step,  the  pungency  and  em- 
phasis of  her  speech,  and  the  occasional  flash  of  her 
eye  indicated  Southern  blood.  It  was  said  that  her 
mother  had  been  a  Spaniard,  married  to  an  English 
wine-merchant;  but  this  was  not  certainly  known. 
Mrs.  Buckingham  hardly  ever  referred  to  any  part 
of  her  past  life,  except  to  the  time  she  had  spent  in 
Washington. 

Though  the  character  of  this  lady  was  regarded 
as  a  little  shady,  she  took  good  care  to  give  gossip 
no  real  cause  for  accusation.  No  one  could  lay 
finger  on  a  single  act  of  hers  which  could  be  con- 
sidered compromising,  so  skilfully  did  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham manage  herself.  She  could  never  have  been 
taken  in  as  was  Mrs.  Vermilye  in  the  affair  with  * 
Captain  Crossaway,  of  the  Slashers.     She  was  too 


52 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


«i| 


ill 


able  and  calculating  for  that.  She  was  a  strange 
combination  of  opposites,  and  in  that  lay  her  power 
over  men.  She  could  talk  politics  intelligently  (the 
highest  test  of  a  woman's  ability),  drink  champagne 
without  losing  her  head,  smoke  cigarettes  like  a 
Cuban,  and  ride  horseback  with  a  grace  and  a  dash 
that  any  woman  might  have  envied.  She  wore  a 
wide-brimmed  Gainsborough  hat  with  a  large  swirl- 
ing ostrich-feather,  which  set  off  admirably  her  bold, 
handsome  features.  Her  stately  figure  was  always 
robed  in  plain,  soft  materials,  that  draped  to  advan- 
tage. Then,  too,  whatever  might  have  been  the 
superiority  of  their  morals,  the  women  of  Halifax 
could  claim  no  intellectual  superiority  over  Mrs. 
Buckingham.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  there- 
fore, that  she  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  men 
and  not  especially  adored  by  the  women. 

Gilsby  was  not  three  days  at  the  Halifax  Hotel 
before  he  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham. She  fascinated  him  at  once,  though  she 
took  no  pains  to  conceal  her  contemptof  his  mental 
abilities.  She  laughed  at  him  before  his  face  and 
behind  his  back,  teased  him  unmercifully,  and 
when  he  rebelled  at  such  treatment,  used  him  like  a 
spoiled  child,  and  sent  him  on  some  of  her  errands. 
It  was  marvellous  to  see  the  bold  and  confident  sway 
she  held  over  him.     In  her  presence  he  was  as  sub- 


The  Story  of  Young  Gilsby. 


53 


missive  as  a  lap-dog.  Nothing  was  too  much  for 
him  to  do  for  her.  The  more  money  he  spent  upon 
her  the  more  infatuated  he  grew.  He  bought  her  a 
phaeton  and  a  span  of  black  ponies  to  draw  it.  He 
hired  a  villa  for  the  summer  at  Bedford,  furnished 
it  elegantly,  and  spent  a  fortune  upon  the  grounds, 
that  Mrs.  Buckingham  might  have  a  country  resort. 
He  even  had  a  yacht  built  expressly  for  her.  If 
Gilsby  had  had  a  Fortunatus'  purse,  he  would  have 
taxed  it  to  the  utmost  to  supply  Mrs.  Buckingham's 
fancies.  But  though  that  lady  might  in  some  sense 
have  resembled  Danae,  Gilsby  did  not  in  the  least 
fill  the  role  of  Jove.  A  more  hopeless  infatuation 
was  never  seen.  In  vain  his  friends  attempted  to 
open  his  eyes.  Gilsby,  like  a  hashish-eater,  could 
only  view  his  situation  through  the  lens  of  a  disor- 
dered imagination.  He  threw  counsel  to  the  winds 
and  plunged  recklessly  into  fresh  excesses.  He  fud- 
dled himself  daily  with  drink  and  prostrated  his 
slender  intellect  at  the  feet  of  his  Circe,  who  calmly 
and  smilingly  pursued  her  relentless  course.  The 
knowledge  that  she  despised  him  only  made  the 
wretched  youth  the  more  desperate.  People  began 
to  wonder  what  would  be  the  outcome  of  all  this. 

The  end  came  soon  enough  for  Gilsby.  The 
fortune  of  the  South  African  ostrich-farmer  melted 
like  snow  under  an  April  sun,  and  as  it  disappeared 


54 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


..,i 


■t.\ 


If   t 


*) 


Mrs.  Buckingham  grew  still  more  splendid  and  al- 
luring. Her  Gainsborough  hat  now  carried  a  dia- 
mond buckle  to  fasten  down  the  sweeping  ostrich- 
plumes.  Her  cloak  was  beautifully  embroidered 
and  edged  with  the  richest  thread  lace.  Bracelets 
of  heavy,  antique  design  and  glittering  with  jewels 
adorned  her  arms.  An  aigrette  of  pearls  and  dia- 
monds sparkled  nightly  in  her  hair.  "  She  looked 
a  goddess  and  she  moved  a  queen,"  while  Gilsby, 
the  source  of  all  this  efflorescence,  would  sit  gaping 
in  ecstasy  at  the  splendid  idol  he  had  set  up,  who 
condescended  to  give  him  the  crumbs  of  her  gracious 
consideration.  But  this  sort  of  thing  could  not  last 
forever.  One  day  Gilsby  awoke  to  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  ruined.  He  had  gone  to  the  bank 
to  draw  out  money  for  a  large  garden-party  which  he 
was  about  to  give  to  his  friends  at  the  Bedford  villa  in 
honor  of  Mrs.  Buckingham.  He  found  that  he  had 
barely  two  hundred  pounds  left  to  his  credit.  He 
went  home  dazed.  The  money  had  seemed  such  a 
large  amount  when  he  left  Africa,  he  had  acquired 
it  so  easily,  that  he  fancied  it  well-nigh  inexhaustible. 
He  wondered  how  it  could  have  slipped  through  his 
fingers.  Somebody,  surely,  must  have  cheated  him. 
He  tried  to  reckon  up  his  expenses,  but  his  brain 
became  confused.  It  was  useless  now  to  calculate, 
and  he  gave  up  the  attempt.     What  in  the  name  of 


The  Story  of  Young  Gilsby. 


55 


Heaven  was  he  to  do  when  his  two  hundred  pounds 
was  gone?  He  knew  nothing  of  business,  and  he 
had  no  friends  whom  he  could  ask  for  money.  The 
garden-party  must  come  off,  however,  happen  what 
might.  What  was  two  hundred  pounds  to  a  man 
who  had  no  more?  Let  it  go  with  the  rest.  It 
would  afford  him  one  royal  day's  sport  and  give 
Mrs,  Buckingham  a  chance  to  shine  more  splendidly 
than  ever.  She  carried  a  little  too  much  dash  for  a 
drawing-room,  but  at  a  garden-party  she  would  be 
supreme.  But  after  that — what?  He  looked  up 
significantly  at  a  pair  of  ornamental  Turkish  pistols 
crossed  above  the  mantel.  Then  he  went  out  and 
set  about  preparing  for  his  party. 

Gilsby  laid  out  his  two  hundred  pounds.  All  his 
military  friends  were  present  on  the  occasion. 
There  was  also  a  good  sprinkling  of  civilians,  but 
the  best  sort  of  women  were  conspicuous  by  their 
absence.  Mrs.  Buckingham  was  resplendent.  She 
came  dressed  as  Diana,  with  bow  and  quiver,  a  silver 
crescent  above  her  brow.  Her  Greek  costume  of 
soft  white  cashmere  edged  with  gold  fell  gracefully 
around  her  shapely  form  and  left  bare  her  molded, 
tapering  arms  and  magnificent  neck  and  throat. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  with  animation,  and  the  current 
of  her  speech  flowed  with  many  a  ripple  of  laughter, 
many  a  glittering  bubble  of  wit.     She  was  unusually 


1.1 


s« 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


!      I 


gracious  to  Gilsby,  complimented  him  on  his  good 
taste,  and  affectionately  patted  his  cheek.  The 
moth  even  with  his  wings  gone  was  fascinated  by  the 
flame  which  had  scorched  him.  When  the  supper- 
hour  arrived,  Gilsby,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  es- 
corted Mrs.  Buckingham  to  her  seat  at  his  right 
hand.  The  tables  under  the  trees  glittered  with 
plate  and  cut-glass  and  were  loaded  down  with  every 
obtainable  luxury.  The  branches  were  hung  with 
hundreds  of  Chinese  lanterns,  whose  variegated 
lights  illumined  the  cut-glass  goblets,  filled  with 
amber  or  ruby-colored  wine,  with  ten  thousand  points 
of  fire.  The  scene  was  like  a  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  or  a  banquet  in  Fairy-land.  It  rivalled  in 
effect  the  lavish  splendors  of  the"  Arabian  Nights." 
The  guests  were  in  flutter  of  surprise  and  delight. 
"Superb!"  "What  a  bold  conception!"  "Our 
host  has  outdone  himself,"  were  some  of  the  enthu- 
siastic criticisms  heard  on  all  sides.  And,  like  a 
veritable  Queen  of  Revels,  supreme  amid  the  glit- 
ter and  festivity,  sat  Mrs.  Buck  ugham  in  her  Diana 
robe,  the  silver  crescent  nodding  above  her  brow, 
while  the  shuttle  of  her  speech  traversed  the  web  of 
conversation  with  sparkling  threads  of  wit.  Never 
in  Halifax  had  such  an  entertainment  been  more 
daringly  conceived  or  successfully  carried  out.  Con- 
gratulations were  showered  upon  Gilsby,     He  was 


BgrriTiijTini w  ii  ii  ii  i  nir*t» 


iwi— mni'*www 


h's  good 
-*^-  The 
'd  by  the 

supper- 
jght,  es- 
is  right 
ed  with 
th  every 
^g  with 
'egated 
d  with 
points 
fight's 
led  in 
fhts. " 

jght. 

'Our 
rathu- 

ke  a 
gl  it- 
ana 

ow, 
t>  of 

ver 

ore 

)n- 

^as 


P  '  ,A', 


'^■t.,\v 


r 


v\\i\ 


"  lie   rose  to   his   feet,  flusheil   and   excited,  and   pledjjed    Mrs. 
Buckingham  in  a  bumper  of  champagne." 


The  Story  of  Young  Gilshy, 


59 


the  Napoleon  of  good  fellows,  the  Haroun-Al-Ras- 
chid  of  garden-parties.  He  was  wafted  by  adulation 
into  a  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  flushed  and  excited,  and  pledged  Mrs.  Bucking- 
ham in  a  bumper  of  champagne.  The  supper  went 
off  with  great  Mat^  and  the  festivities  were  kept 
up  until  late  in  the  evening.  Gilsby  drove  Mrs. 
Buckingham  home.  He  was  in  reckless  high  spirits 
all  the  way,  for  the  glamour  of  the  evening  was  still 
upon  him.  But  as  they  neared  the  hotel  his  gay- 
ety  suddenly  gave  way  to  a  fierce  and  hard  manner. 
He  whipped  the  horses  furiously  and  drew  them  up 
foaming  and  panting  at  the  hotel  entrance.  He 
followed  Mrs.  Buckingham  to  her  parlor,  shut  the 
door  quietly,  then  turned  the  key  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  Mrs.  Buckingham  noticed  the  action  and 
looked  at  Gilsby.  She  saw  with  the  quick  eye  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  that  there  was  something  dan- 
gerous in  his  mind.  He  was  nervous  and  excited, 
and  his  eye  had  a  furtive,  uneasy  look.  "  Sit  down," 
she  said  quietly,  and  herself  dropped  into  a  chair. 
"  I  am  tired.  What  a  day  we  have  had,  to  be  sure! 
Thanks  to  you,  my  friend!" 

Gilsby  did  not  answer  a  word,  but  shifted  his  po- 
sition on  the  chair  and  cast  a  strange  glance  at 
Mrs.  Buckingham,  while  his  fingers  twitched  ner- 
vously.    The  lady  grew  uneasy  and  turned  up  the 


6o 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


!! 


,  1 


i    i 


gas.  "  You  have  overdone  yourself,  too,"  she  said 
carelessly,  though  she  darted  a  covert  look  at  the 
young  man.  "  I  would  advise  you  to  go  to  bed  and 
get  a  good  night's  sleep."  Still  Gilsby  did  not  an- 
swer. His  eyes  had  grown  bloodshot,  and  for  one 
so  young  his  face  looked  old  and  haggard.  He 
muttered  something  to  himself  and  rose  slowly  to 
his  feet.  His  right  hand  was  in  the  pocket  of  his 
overcoat,  and  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Buckingham  across 
the  centre-table  with  a  fixed,  dogged  expression. 
"Do  you  know,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse,  unnatural 
voice,  "what  I  have  come  here  to  do?  I  am  going 
to  end  this  little  game  now.  A  precious  lot  of  sat- 
isfaction I  have  got  for  all  the  money  I've  spent.  I 
tell  you,  woman,  every  cent  I  was  worth  in  the  world 
is  gone,  and  you've  had  it,  and  you've  used  me  like 
a  dog  through  it  all!  Now  I'm  of  no  more  use  to 
you,  and  I  suppose  I  may  take  my  congt^.  I  can 
go  shoot  or  drown  myself,  for  all  you  care.  Is  that 
the  word?  Very  well;  but  why  should  I  face  the 
consequences  alone?  Why  should  I  let  you  enjoy 
my  money  with  that  new  chap  you  seemed  so  taken 
with  to-night?  Yes,  I'm  jealous  if  you  like — jeal- 
ous, ruined,  desperate!  The  jig's  up,  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham;" and  he  drew  a  six-shooter  from  his  pocket, 
cocked  it,  and  pointed  it  at  her  breast.  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham  turned    deathly    pale,    though  she    never 


mmm 


The  Story  of  Young  Gilsby, 


6i 


i 


flinched,  as  Gilsby  stood  with  his  finger  on  the  trig- 
ger staring  at  her  with  wild  eyes.  She  looked  back 
calmly  at  him  and  smiled. 

"You  foolish  boy!"  she  exclaimed  with  admi- 
rably-feigned good-humor  and  with  a  faint  touch  of 
scorn.  "You  are  too  young,  my  dear,  to  carry 
such  dangerous  weapons.  Quit  that  nonsense  and 
come  here;  I  want  to  whisper  something  to  you." 

She  cast  an  alluring  glance  at  the  youth,  and 
clasped  her  hands  at  the  back  of  her  head.  The 
loose,  white  tissue  bordered  with  gold  fell  back  and 
left  bare  her  beautiful  arms,  which  circled  her 
golden  hair  like  an  ivory  frame.  The  effect  upon 
Gilsby  was  instantaneous  His  face  flushed,  and 
rising  he  went  over  to  her  and  bent  down  his  head, 
holding  the  pistol  loosely  in  his  hand.  Suddenly 
Mrs.  Buckingham's  grasp  fell  upon  the  weapon,  and, 
wrenching  it  from  his  hold,  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 
"Stand  off!"  she  cried  imperiously,  and  levelled 
the  revolver  at  the  astonished  Gilsby. 

"What!"  she  said  with  a  slight  laugh;  "7^//,  the 
little  Gilsby,  play  at  murder  and  suicide!  Utterly 
absurd!  What  can  you  have  been  thinking  of? 
And"  now  you  look  as  scared  as  if  you  had  seen  a 
ghost!  Leave  such  high  tragedy  to  the  criminal 
classes.  Now,  not  a  step  nearer  i  I  am  not  going 
to  give  you  another  chance  to  play  the  despairing 


62 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


lover.  How  ungrateful  you  have  been  for  all  my 
favor!  Haven't  I  introduced  you  to  all  my  friends? 
Haven't  1  kept  you  from  throwing  your  money  away 
at  the  gambling-table  and  over  the  bar?  Haven't 
I  counselled  you,  kept  you  respectable?  Did  I  ever 
encourage  you  to  squander  money  upon  me?  And 
now  you  say  you  are  ruined!  Well,  ruin  is  a  rela- 
tive term.  You  are  just  coming  to  your  senses 
Money  has  been  your  ruin,  and  you  may  thank  me 
that  it  hasn't  landed  you  in  a  drunkard's  grave. 
Why,  man,  I  have  a  conscience!  You  say  this  last 
little  affair  was  in  my  honor?  Very  good;  1  will 
pay  the  piper.  Two  hundred  pounds,  I  think  you 
said.  Rather  an  expensive  day's  pleasure!  It  will 
take  just  half  of  my  year's  income.  But  go — take 
it!  Be  off  with  you!  Here  is  a  draft  on  my  banker 
for  the  amount.  Now,  I  warn  you  to  leave  Halifax 
as  soon  as  you  can  settle  up  your  affairs.  Go  to  the 
States  and  take  a  new  start.  On  no  account  perse- . 
cute  me  any  more;  for  if  you  do  I  tell  you  plainly  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you.  You  know  when  I  say  a 
thing  I  always  keep  my  word.  With  two  hundred 
pounds  and  industry  you  may  succeed  anvwh' re 
Unlock  that  door  if  you  please.      Here  to- 

graph.     You  can  keep  it  as  a  sc  i^      gh 

time  for  you  to  be  in  bed.     I  th     tc  we     iiderstand 
each  other  now.     Did  you  hear?    Ope     the  door! 


IMMB 


mmtmaKommnfr'Sfam 


The  Story  of  Young  Gilsby. 


63 


I  don't  want  to  be  harsh,  tittle  (lilsby,  when  parting 
with  an  old  friend;  but  it  is  late  and  I  can't  have 
you  longer  in  my  rooms — there'  Good-by!"  She 
held  out  her  right  hand  with  the  air  of  an  empress, 
the  pistol  still  cocked  and  ready  in  her  left.  Gilsby, 
dazed  and  unable  to  speak  a  word,  put  his  lips  to 
her  hand  and  then  slowly  walketl  out  of  the  room. 
Mrs.  Buckingham  stood  holding  the  revolver  until 
she  heard  him  shut  his  door  in  the  hall  above.  She 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  then  laid  down  the  weapon. 

"I  declare,"  she  said  to  herself  with  a  little 
laugh,  "  I  was  really  frightened  These  weak  creat- 
ures are  so  uncertain.  Poor  fool,  I  believe  he  really 
loved  me.  I  have  got  far  beyond  that  sort  of  thing 
myself,"  and  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  something 
like  a  tear  glistened  in  her  eye. 

Two  days  after  Gilsby  was  on  his  way  to  Boston, 
and  Halifax  saw  him  no  more. 


:| 

4 

I 

1 

1 

■ 

AN  INCREASED  ALLOWANCE. 


! 


i    Mi 


AN    INCREASED  ALLOWANCE 


''  All  the  reasonings  of  men  are  not  worth  one  sentiment  of  women." 

—Voltaire 


It  is  very  well  known  that  many  fellows  who  go 
into  the  British  army  have  pretty  hard  scrambling 
in  a  financial  way.  Unless  a  man  has  a  little 
private  income  or  great  e.xpectations,  he  had  better 
keep  out  of  the  service.  So  many  a  one  has  thought 
and  said.  It  is  ditficult  for  a  young  officer  to  live 
on  his  pay;  and  as  to  marrying  on  it,  unless  he 
marries  money,  as  every  officer  (and  possibly  now 
and  then  a  civilian)  would  like  to  do,  why,  that's 
absurd. 

Lieutenant  Cranston  was  one  of  my  best  friends. 
I  had  met  him  in  England  before  he  came  out  to 
Halifax,  and  after  seeing  more  or  less  of  each 
other  for  six  months  in  London,  where  he  was  spend- 
ing a  furlough,  his  regiment  being  in  Bermuda,  we 
had  parted  with  many  assurances  of  mutual  liking, 
and  a  little  sinking  of  heart  on  l)()th  sides  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  each  other  no  more.     Once  during 

our  acquaintance  I  went  down  with  him  to  Devon- 
5  67 


68 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


m 


1 


^ ' 


shire  to  see  his  people,  whom  I  found  no  whit  lack- 
ing in  the  charm  that  belongs  to  English  country 
gentle-folk.  Their  home  was  a  quaint,  rambling, 
ivy-wreathed  mansion,  built  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, with  noble  grounds,  a  well-stocked  deer-park, 
and  every  sign  of  wealth  and  aristocratic  tradition. 
Accustomed  as  I  was  to  the  newness  and  comparative 
lack  of  cultivation  of  American  colonial  life,  I  shall 
never  forget  the  rapturous  days  I  spent  there.  Mr. 
Cranston,  senior,  was  a  stern  man,  accustomed  to  be 
obeyed,  of  whom  all  his  servants  stood  in  awe,  but 
a  man  whom  I  soon  saw  had  not  only  high  breed- 
ing, with  that  courtly  manner  which  belongs,  in  the 
old  world  or  the  new,  to  a  true  aristocracy,  but  a 
tender,  generous  heart  as  well.  At  first  I  was 
afraid  of  him,  but  I  soon  grew  so  fond  of  him,  as 
well  as  of  Mrs.  Cranston — who  was  a  tall,  gentle, 
white-haired  old  lady,  proud  as  an  empress, 
but  sweet  and  motherly — that  I.  almost  forgot  I 
did  not  belong  to  the  family.  As  Bob  s  friend 
I  believe  they  themselves  hardly  knew  while 
1  was  there  that  I  was  not  one  of  the  family. 
There  were  two  splendid  girls  in  the  house,  Lieuten- 
ant Cranston's  cousins,  from  some  other  part  of 
Devonshire;  but  the  Mrss  Cranstons,  of  whom 
there  had  been  three,  had  all  been  married  within 
the   last  two  years — one  to  Sir    Charles    Mills,  a 


An  Increased  Allowance. 


69 


member  of  Parliament  for  Surrey,  one  to  a  son 
of  Admiral  Barker,  and  one,  the  youngest,  to  the 
heir  prospective  to  a  Scottish  barony.  VV^hen  Bob 
Cranston's  furlough  was  about  up,  his  regiment,  the 
i8th  Grenadiers,  was  suddenly  ordered  to  Halifax. 
This  was  some  four  months  after  we  had  parted  in 
London  and  I  had  sailed  for  the  Nova  Scotia  capi- 
tal. So,  unexpectedly,  we  were  together  again; 
and  I  am  foolish  enough  to  think  that  Bob  was  a 
good  deal  happier  in  coming  on  the  station  because 
he  knew  he  would  find  me  there. 

One  of  the  most  winning  girls  in  Halifax  was 
MollieDeane.  She  had  good  blood  in  her  veins;  she 
had  about  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  in  her  own 
light;  she  had  a  handsome  face,  a  tolerable  figure, 
and  plenty  of  sense.  I  did  not  wonder  that  Bob 
Cranston  fell  in  love  with  her.  Why  on  earth 
shouldn  t  he  have  done  so?  I  should  have  been 
head  over  ears  in  love  with  her  myself  if  I  had 
not  known  her  as  a  child,  and  seen  her  grow 
up,  and  been  on  the  brother  list  of  her  friends 
ever  since  she  became  a  woman.  Mollie  Deane 
— why,  1  believe  I  should  have  thrown  Cranston 
over  if  he  hadn't  fallen  in  love  with  her.  I 
always  expected  every  fellow  to  lose  his  heart  to 
her;  she  was  so  sensible,  so  comradish,  in  every 
way  such  a  splendid  girl      Bob  did  fall   in   love 


70 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


I 


with  her,  and  they  became  engaged;  and  the  young 
Lieutenant  forthwith,  in  high  feather,  wrote  the 
news  home.  Three  successive  mails  carried  letters 
to  England  about  his  engagement,  about  the  girl, 
about  his  desire  to  marry  soon,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it. 

To  Bob  suddenly  came  a  letter  from  Mr.  Cranston, 
in  which  the  boy  was  called  a  fool  and  was  rather 
authoritatively  ordered  to  give  the  whole  thing  up. 
*'  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  marry  a  girl  in  the 
colonies,"  his  father  wrote.  "If  you  are  bound  to 
marry,  which,  until  you  are  at  least  thirty  [Bob 
was  then  twenty-four],  it  is  sheer  nonsense  for  you 
to  want  to  do,  you  must  manry  in  England.  I 
won't  have  any  such  foolery.  Bob!  I  don't  approve 
of  this;  and  I  warn  you  that  if  you  persist  in  it  I 
will  cut  your  present  allowance  down  to  a  figure 
that  will  make  it  impossible  for  even  so  romantic  a 
young  man  as  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing." 

Of  course  Bob  Cranston  at  once  broke  his  engage- 
ment ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  went  straight  to  Mollie 
and  showed  her  the  letter,  and  acted  more  like  a  fool 
than  ever  over  her;  and  when  she  said,  "Bob,  you 
had  better  give  me  up;  your  father  is  clearly  very 
resolute  and  means  all  he  says,"  he  replied  with  a 
little  dignity:  "Mollie,  if  I  was  coward  enough  to 
do  that  I  would  throw  my  commission  to  the  winds. 


IH ;  I 


MHMI 


An  Increased  Allowanee. 


7» 


for  I  should  not  be  worthy  the  name  of  a  soldier. 
What  sort  of  a  son,  in  the  name  of  thunder,  does 
my  father  think  he  has  got?" 

It  so  happened  that  Mollie  Deane  was  then  on  the 
eve  of  departure  for  England,  where  she  had  been 
invited  to  spend  three  months  with  Lady  Lines,  the 
wife  of  an  officer  in  the  last  regiment,  with  whom 
she  had  been  a  great  favorite.  The  same 
steamer  that  took  her  across  the  Atlantic  took  a 
letter  to  Devonshire,  in  which  Lieutenant  Cranston 
dignifiedly,  respectfully,  and  yet  most  firmly 
declared  that  he  was  not  going  to  give  Mollie 
Deane  up;  that  she  was  worth  a  dozen  English 
girls;  that  he  would  never  love  any  other  woman, 
and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose — ending  with: 
'*  Miss  Deane  sails  for  England  on  the  steamer  that 
carries  this  letter,  to  visit  her  friend  Lady  Lines  in 
London,  and  I  greatly  wish,  my  dear  father,  that 
you  would  go  up  to  London  and  call  on  her. " 

This  was  a  modest  request,  and  when  Mr.  Cran- 
ston, senior,  read  it  he  was  almost  dumfounded. 
*' I  go  to  London  to  see  this  girl  that  I  have  posi- 
tively forbidden  Bob  to  marry!  He  dare  to  ask  me 
such  a  thing!  Why,  Bob  is  taking  leave  of  his 
senses."  The  old  gentleman  thought  about  it  a 
week  or  two,  however,  and  then  sat  down  and  wrote 
Mollie  Deane  the  following  letter: 


V 


ii         i! 


:  I 


72 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


My  dear  Madam  :  My  son,  Lieutenant  Cranston, 
writes  me  that  you  are  a  friend  of  his  and  are  visit- 
ing in  London.  If  you  care  to  see  Mrs.  Cranston 
and  me,  you  may  come  and  spend  a  few  days  with 
us.  The  house  is  quiet;  but  perhaps,  since  (as  my 
son  tells  me)  you  have  always  lived  in  the  new 
world,  you  may  find  some  things  here  to  interest  you. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be,  madam, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

RoiJERT  Cranston,  Sr. 
Cranston  Ilall^  Devonshire. 

Mollie  Deane,  with  Mr.  Cranston's  peremptory 
letter  to  Bob  fresh  in  her  memory,  was  in  no  mood 
to  receive  a  summons  like  this.  He  was  evidently 
regarding  her  as  an  ignorant,  spiritless  little  sav- 
age, who  had  no  claim  to  be  regarded  as  a  woman, 
much  less  as  a  lady,  and  for  whom  any  kind  of 
treatment  was  good  enough.  If  Bob  had  been 
present  she  would  no  doubt  have  been  counselled  to 
a  diflerent  course  from  the  one  she  took,  but  Bob  was 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic;  moreover,  Mollie 
was  accustomed  to  act  for  herself.  At  once  she 
took  the  letter  to  her  room,  and  sitting  down  wrote 
the  following  reply: 

Mv  dear  Sir-  I  am,  as  you  know,  the  afifianced 
wife  of  your  son,  Robert  Cranston.     I  am  sorry  that 


An  Increased  Alhzvance. 


73 


you  do  not  approve  of  me,  and  with  matters  as  they 
are  you  must  excuse  my  not  visiting  you.in  Devon- 
shire. If  I  am  not  to  be  received  by  you  as  your 
son's  wife,  I  cannot  of  course  become  a  guest  at 
your  house. 

Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Mary  Deane. 


This  answer  took  Mr.  Cranston  wholly  by  sur- 
prise. "She  is  at  least  a  girl  of  spirit,"  he  said, 
"and  I  like  spirit.  But  she  is  probably  ignorant, 
although  this  letter,  spicy  as  it  is,  seems  like  the 
letter  of  a^  somewhat  cultivated  person;  and  since 
she  will  not  come  to  us,  there  is  nothing  else  that 
I  can  do  nor  anything  that  I  shall  try  to  do." 

There  was,  however,  something  else  that  Mr. 
Cranston  made  up  his  mind  in  two  or  three  days  to 
do,  and  that  was  to  run  up  to  London  and  call  on 
the  young  woman.  On  Monday  Mollie  wrote  her 
letter,  on  Thursday  a  card  was  handed  her,  on 
which  was  the  name  of  Robert  Cranston,  Sr  Her 
knees  shook  a  little  as  she  went  down,  but  Mollie 
was  a  brave  girl,  and  moreover  she  was  a  little 
angry,  and  when  a  woman  is  angry  she  can  do  very 
heroically  things  that  in  softer  moods  she  could 
not  do  at  all.     That  day  she  had  on  a  gown  of  soft, 


» 


i) 


'  1 


74 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


fine,  white  cashmere,  simply  but  artistically  made 
— a  gown,  in  fact,  that  had  just  come  home  from 
Lady  Lines*  dressmaker,  one  of  the  best  in  London. 
It  was  a  rich,  drapy  costume,  with  dainty  folds  up  and 
down  the  waist,  into  one  of  which  she  had  fastened 
a  bunch  of  creamy  roses  that  Lady  Lines  had  that 
morning  ordered  for  her  at  a  florist's  near.  Her 
soft  brown  hair  was  simply  coiled,  and  her  color 
was  exquisite.  If  any  girl  was  ever  fitted  to  win 
her  way  to  an  obdurate  prospective  father-in-law's 
heart,  it  was  certainly  she;  and  she  did  win  her 
way.  The  old  gentleman  had  clearly  made  up  his 
mind  to  overawe  her;  for  as  she  entered  the  room 
he  rose  with  haughty  dignity,  and  before  speaking 
looked  at  her  in  a  keen,  searching  way,  not  at  all 
calculated  to  soothe  her  ruffled  spirits.  Usually, 
Mollie  would  quickly  have  resented  such  treatment, 
but,  as  she  afterward  told  me,  the  likeness  between 
Mr.  Cranston  and  Bob  was  so  strong  that  she  at 
once  lost  all  sense  of  her  own  dignity  and  found 
her  heart  going  out  to  her  stately  visitor.  However 
resolute  Mr.  Cranston  had  beforehand  determined  to 
•be  with  the  young  woman  who  had  stolen  his  son's 
affections,  before  five  minutes  were  over  he  was 
deeply  repentant  for  having  written  as  he  had  done 
to  his  son  and  to  her.  "Miss  Deane,"  he  said  at 
length,  after  trying  in  vain  to  talk  about  indifferent 


"If  any  girl  was  ever  fitted  to  win  her  way  to  an  obdurate  pro- 
spective father-in-law's  heart,  it  was  certainly  she." 


II    m 


'l,,i!l 


1^-  ' 


An  Increased  Aliowancc, 


77 


things,  "I  believe  I  am  in  my  dotage.  I  might 
have  known  that  Bob  would  choose  right.  He  has 
chosen  right.  I  should  have  been  ashamed  of  him 
if  he  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  such  a  girl  as  you 
are.  Give  you  up?  Why,  when  I  was  his  age,  if 
all  the  fathers  in  the  world  had  bidden  me  give  up 
a  girl  like  you  I  should  have  laughed  in  their  faces. 
And  I  tried  to  make  him  do  what  he  would  have 
been  a  cowardly  fellow  to  have  done  I  Permit  me. 
Miss  Deane,  to  tell  you  that  it  is  my  candid  opinion 
that  I  am  an  old  simpleton.  Will  you  do  us  the 
honor,  now  that  I  have  called  on  you,  to  come  down 
to  Cranston  Hall  for  as  long  as  you  can  stay — and 
very  soon  ?" 

Mollie  wanted  to  put  her  arms  round  the  old  fel- 
low's neck  and  kiss  him  for  Dob — and  for  herself; 
but  he  looked  so  proud  and  stately  she  was  afraid. 
When  he  left  it  was,  however,  with  a  promise  from 
her  that  she  would  come  to  Devonshire  in  a  few  days 
for  a  visit  of  at  least  a  week. 

All  that  Mr.  Robert  Cranston's  next  letter  to  his 
son,  Lieutenant  Cranston,  contained  was:  "Bob,  I 
have  seen  her;  she  is  a  glorious  girl !  I  ask  your 
pardon!  I  hope  you  will  not  delay  matters  long;  I 
dislike  lengthy  engagements.  The  day  you  are 
married  I  shall  increase  your  allowance  two  hundred 
pounds.     Can  you  live  on  that?    God  bless  you!" 


78 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


Last  week  I  gave  Moll ie  away,  for  she  has  neither 
father  nor  brother;  and  much  as  I  love  Bob,  I  was 
half-jealous  of  him.  Going  out  of  the  church,  I  felt 
a  little  as  if  I  had  lost  them  both. 


either 
i  was 
I  felt 


SIMPSON  OF  THE  SLASHERS. 


SIMPSON   OF  THE  SLASHERS. 


"  lie  could  spin  a  stiff  yarn,  could  this  blonmin'  top-sawyer. 
}(«  was  tlv  iis  a  Itarmaid  and  slick  as  a  lawyer  ; 
'I'wo  mottoes  he  had —never  [my  till  to-morrow, 
And,  while  yc'vc  the  chink  never  liorrow  a  sorrow." 

— The  Dandy  o>--  I^kickstkr  SotrARK. 


Second-lieutenant  Simpson  of  the  Slashers  was 
hard  up.  The  pay  of  a  junior  commissioned  officer 
in  the  British  infantry  is  not  large  enough  to  war- 
rant reckless  expenditure^  in  magnums  of  champagne 
and  Havana  cigars  at  a  shilling  and  upward  apiece. 
It  will  not  even  serve  for  a  three-hours'  nightly 
spin  at  billiards  or  a  sixpenny  ante  at  poker  when 
one  is  not  an  expert  with  the  cue  or  at  cards. 
Yet  Simpson  of  the  Slashers  took  to  ail  these  gentle 
pastimes  as  readily  as  does  a  Newfoundland  pup  to 
water.  There  was  not  a  confiding  retail  tradesman 
in  either  of  the  stations  where  the  Slashers  had  served 
during  the  last  five  years  who  was  not  familiar  with 
Simpson's  name  on  certain  narrow  slips  of  paper, 
which,  whatever  may  be  their  expectant  value,  in 
the  end  too  often  cone  to  have  a  merely  auto- 
graphical  interest.  Simpson's  lodgings  contained 
a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  prints,  foils,  novels, 


f 


82 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Tozvn. 


I 


If 'SI 


toilet  articles,  clothes  of  a  variety  of  styles  and 
textures,  and  a  portrait  of  the  girl  to  whom  he  had 
been  for  three  years  engaged.  Her  name  was 
Georgianna  Jackson;  she  lived  in  London  with  a 
respectable  old  maiden  aunt  who  \ept  lodgers,  at 
whose  house,  in  his  salad  days,  the  susceptible 
Simpson  had  once  had  rooms;  and  she  was  wait- 
ing patiently  for  Simpson  to  get  hJs  promotion, 
which  now,  in  the  nature  of  things,  she  thought, 
could  not  be  long  delayed. 

Simpson  himself,   however,   had  been  in  no  par- 

« 

ticular  haste  to  marry.  He  had  been  having  a 
rather  comfortable  time,  so  long  as  tradesmen  were 
not  importunate  and  were  wUling  to  fike  the  little 
slips  of  paper  before  mentioned,  of  which  he  always 
seemed  to  have  a  liberal  supply.  Simpson  of  the 
Slashers  was  one  of  those  easy  souls  who  very  faith- 
fully and  literally  obey  the  Scripture  injunction, 
"Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow.  '  Duns  were 
somewhat  unpleasant  to  him;  but  where  is  the  mor- 
tal who  can  long  have  unalloyed  plcvisure?  The 
Second-lieutenant  accepted  the  duns  as  one  of  the 
inevitable  nuisances  of  life,  like  sewing-machines, 
babies,  and  the  daily  parade,  and  therefore  paid  as 
little  attention  to  them  as  possible.  It  must  be 
confessed,  however,  that  the  attitude  of  tlie  Halifax 
shopkeepers  was  becoming  most  disagreeable.      The 


il»i»»HWWI 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers. 


83 


IS 


reigment  had  now  been  stationed  here  two  or  three 
years,  and  one  year  was  usually  sufficient  to  exhaust 
Simpson's  credit  in  a  garrison  town.  He  had 
latterly  been  under  the  necessity  of  borrowing  from 
his  friends,  which  is  usually  an  irksome  thing  to  a 
man  of  spirit,  but  which  to  Simpson  was  made 
easier  by  the  fact  that  he  had  not  only  high  connec- 
tions, but  high  expectations.  These  expectations 
seemed  somewhat  doutbful  to  his  fellow-officers, 
but  to  Simpson's  sanguine  mind  they  had  all  the 
value  of  reality;  and  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  when 
he  found  it  necessary  to  ask  his  friends  for  money: 
"You  know  it  won't  be  for  long.  I  shall  come  into 
my  fortune  soon." 

The  truth  was  that  Simpson  was  next  heir  but  one 
to  his  uncle,  old  Sir  Cholmondeley  Hyng,  in  the 
west  of  England;  and  if  his  weakly  cousin  Herbert 
should  die,  as  Simpson  had  always  felt  that  it  was 
likely  he  would  do  before  long,  he  would  of  course 
succeed  to  the  estates.  In  any  case,  he  believed 
that  his  uncle  would  provide  liberally  for  him  in  his 
will,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  now  seventy-six 
and  very  feeble. 

The  good-nature  of  the  regiment,  however,  at  last 
became  sorely  taxed  with  Simpson's  frequent  loans 
— "benevolences,"  as  they  were  facetiously  termed 
in  the  garrison;  and  when  Simpson  one  day  asked 


u 


84 


Ta/i's  of  a  Garrison    Toivn. 


Captain  Crossaway  for  the  fourth  time  for  an  ad- 
vance of  twenty  pounds  on  his  expectations,  the 
Captain  twirled  his  long  mustache,  and,  looicing  a 
little  sourly  at  Simpson,  said:  "Hang  it,  my  boy, 
aren't  you  carrying  this  thing  rather  far?"  and  then 
turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word  and  walked  away. 
Simpson  looked  angrily  after  him,  cursing  him  under 
his  breath  for  a  miserly  hunks,  and  then  went  off 
to  try  for  a  loan  somewhere  else.  Before  long 
Addington,  of  the  next  company,  and  Tipton,  whose 
father  was  a  millionaire,  and  little  Creighton,  the 
dandy  of  the  regiment,  who  spent  more  on  his 
clothes  than  any  other  three  officers,  had  all  refused 
similar  requests;  and  then  Simpson  saw  that  some- 
thing must  be  done. 

Simpson  was  really  mildly  attached  to  Georgianna 
Jackson,  and  if  he  could  have  helped  '*^  would  not 
for  a  moment  have  dreamed  of  throwing  her  over; 
but  his  tastes  were  expensive,  and  his  means  for 
gratifying  them  excessively  inadequate.  In  such  a 
state  of  thi:,gs  men  do  various  things.  One  goes 
out  decently  and  quietly  and  perforates  his  brains 
with  a  bullet,  or  drops  accidentally  into  the  town 
reservoir,  or  goes  to  the  bad  with  drink.  Another, 
of  a  more  provident  turn  of  mind,  trifles  with  his 
employer's  till,  or  forges  somebody's  name,  or,  if 
he  be  of  an  adventurous  disposition,  cracks  a  house, 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers, 


85 


and  perhaps  a  skull  at  the  same  time.  But  Simp- 
son, always  careful  of  his  person,  objected  to  the 
former  ways  of  solving  his  difficulty;  and  for  the 
latter,  while  he  was  willing  to  live  as  long  as  he 
gracefully  could  at  other  people's  expense,  he  was 
not  desirous  of  being  provided  with  Government 
board  and  lodging  and  of  wearing  an  unhandsome 
suit  of  striped  clothes,  which  assuredly  would  not 
be  cut  in  the  latest  fashion.  But  these  temptations 
he  was  happily  beyond,  for  our  Second-lieutenant 
was  one  of  those  upright  souls  who  exhaust  all 
honorable  expedients  before  resorting  to  doubtful 
ones.  There  was  only  one  way  he  could  imagine 
of  getting  out  of  his  scrape.  It  was  simply  to 
throw  over  his  Cieorgianna  and  marry  a  rich  girl. 
A  gay,  good-looking  young  officer  in  his  uniform 
is,  as  we  all  know,  a  decidedly  pleasant  object  of 
contemplation  to  the  average  feminine  eye.  Simp- 
son had  a  good  figure,  and  his  uniform  fitted  him  to 
perfection,  while  in  plain  clothes  he  was  not  less 
attractive.  So,  the  "scarlet  fever"  being  alarm- 
ingly and  disastrously  prevalent  among  the  fair  sex, 
it  was  natural  that  he  should  have  ardent  admirers. 
One  of  the  richest  uncaptured  heiresses  of  the  city 
was  the  daughter  of  old  *Ir.  Port  way,  a  retired  West 
India    merchant;    and   upon    Miss  Anetta    Porlway 

Simpson  cast  his  amorous  and  speculative  eye.     The 
6 


86 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toxvn. 


'■  N 


chief  drawbacks  in  the  case  were  not  the  unwilling- 
ness of  the  maiden,  but  the  facts  that,  like  the  fair 
Katherine  of  the  play,  the  florid  Miss  Port  way  was 
known  to  have  a  most  uncertain  temper,  and  that 
she  was  a  maiden  of  such  problematic  age  that  the 
irreverent  youths  about  town  were  wont  to  call 
her  alliteratively,  "  Perennial  Pepper  (Irass. "  But 
Simpson  was  in  no  position  to  be  particular  about 
trifles  such  as  these,  and  he  accordingly  began  to 
lay  close  siege  to  the  heart  of  Miss  Portway.  That 
citadel  of  fair  femininity,  after  a  decent  delay,  gave 
unmistakable  signs  of  a  breach  in  its  defences,  and 
Simpson  had  no  great  difficulty  in  urging  the  fortress 
to  surrender. 

Things  now  began  to  go  more  smoothly  with  the 
Second-lieutenant.  Tradesmen  again  grew  indul- 
gent to  him,  and  his  brother-officers  were  not  so 
chary  of  their  loans;  for  it  was  well  understood  that 
old  Peter  Portway's  settlement  on  his  only  daugh- 
ter, if  she  was  ever  lucky  enough  to  marry,  would 
be  liberal  and  would  be  in  hard  cash.  Now  that  his 
immediate  necessities  were  provided  for,  however, 
Simpson  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  plunge  into  matri- 
mony; and  in  truth  he  infinitely  preferred  Georgi- 
anna  Jackson  to  Miss  Tort  way.  So,  when  the  latter 
hinted  that  six  months  would  be  a  suitable  length 
of   time  to  be  engaged,  expecting  that  her  ardent 


i  «> 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers, 


87 


lover  would  insist  on  reducing  the  time  to  two  or 
three  months,  he  nervously  pulled  his  mustache, 
and  said  that  there  were  military  reasons,  which  she 
must  excuse  him  from  then  explaining,  which  would 
make  it  impossible  for  them  to  have  the  wedding 
under  a  year.  It  was  most  unfortunate,  and  he 
deeply  regretted  it;  but  though  he  would  try  hard 
to  get  the  obstacle  removed,  with  a  sigh,  he  feared 
he  should  not  be  successful.  The  truth  was  he  felt 
quite  confident  of  securing  his  prize  at  any  time  he 
wished,  for  maidens  of  Miss  Portway's  uncertain 
age  are  not  too  eagerly  sought,  and  do  not  easily  let 
go  their  hold  on  an  attractive  young  fedow  like 
Simpson  of  the  Slashers.  The  situation,  however, 
was  extremely  complicated.  He  had  by  no  means 
yet  cut  loose  from  Georgianna  Jackson,  though 
his  now  less  frequent  letters  to  her  were  marked 
by  an  unwonted  coldness;  and  he  had  bound  him- 
self by  a  tender  vow  to  Miss  Anetta  Portway. 
Still,  he  felt  quite  easy  in  his  mind.  Simpson 
was  one  of  those  men  who  are  never  much  worried 
so  long  as  their  present  needs  are  met.  There  soon 
came  reproaches,  however,  from  the  loved  one  across 
the  sea,  and  the  delicately-scented  note-paper  bore 
unmistakable  marks  of  tears.  Simpson  twisted  the 
letters  up  and  lighted  his  cigars  with  them,  and, 
partly  in  excuse  to  his  own  conscience,  replied  with 


88 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


I ,  I 


virtuous  indignation  that  if  Georgianna  doubted 
him  siie  was  in  no  sense  worthy  to  become  his  wife, 
etc.,  etc.  So  there  for  a  time  the  matter  hQng. 
1  The  year  of  waiting  which  Simpson  had  declared 
unavoidable  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the 
I/icutcnant  was  meditating  the  final  coup  in  the 
issue  between  him  and  Georgianna,  when  the  news 
came  suddenly  from  England  that  his  cousin  Her- 
bert, while  riding  to  the  hounds,  had  fallen  and 
broken  his  neck.  This  put  a  different  aspect  on 
Simpson's  affairs.  His  infirm  uncle  could  not  pos- 
sibly last  more  than  a  year  or  two  at  most,  and 
Simpson  would  then  come  into  possession  of  the 
ancestral  estate.  The  prospect  of  marrying  Miss 
Port  way  grew  all  of  a  sudden  extremely  distasteful 
to  him,  and  the  prospect  of  marrying  Georgianna 
once  more  alluring.  But  how  was  he  to  get  things 
straight?  He  thought  of  many  expedients,  but  dis- 
missed them  all  as  impracticable.  At  length  a  happy 
though  desperate  thought  struck  him.  He  would 
not  break  his  engagement  with  Miss  Portway,  but 
he  would  have  it  broken  by  her  family.  Accord- 
ingly, he  went  out  and  got  what  in  a  person  of  a 
lower  grade  would  be  called  gloriously  drunk,  and 
then  proceeded  to  call  on  his  afifianced,  at  a  time 
when  he  knew  her  eminently  respectable  and  some- 
what puritanical  parent  would  be  at  home.     The 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers, 


89 


•1 


sober  old  West  India  merchant  himself  happened  to 
open  the  door  to  the  inebriated  Simpson,  and  of 
course  took  in  his  condition  at  a  glance.  "What 
does  this  mean,  sir?"  with  emphasis  he  said.  "No 
man  has  ever  dared  to  cross  my  threshold  in  this 
condition  before.  You  have  insulted  my  family, 
sir!     Never  presume  to  show  your  head  here  again!" 

The  episode  made  a  tremendous  sensation.  Miss 
I'ortway  herself,  on  being  told  of  it  by  her  father, 
went  into  violent  hysterics,  took  brain  fever,  and 
had  three  physicians  to  attend  her.  Simpson  went 
to  his  Colonel,  laid  his  own  version  of  the  facts 
before  him,  and,  careful  not  to  inculpate  him- 
self too  deeply,  asked  for  six  months'  leave.  The 
Colonel  cursed  him  for  a  fool,  but  granted  him  the 
rc(iuired  furlough,  and  Simpson  the  next  week  got 
on  board  an  Allan  Liner  and  set  out  for  England. 
He  was  going  now  to  be  virtuous,  as  became  a  pro- 
spective country  gentleman  of  large  fortune,  marry 
(jeorgianna,  and  probably  quit  the  army  and  set  up 
for  Parliament. 

As  soon  as  he  arrived  in  England  he  hastened 
to  Russell  Square  to  see  Miss  Jackson.  He  would 
take  her  back  to  his  heart,  and  would  not  reproach 
her  with  a  single  word  for  her  suspicions  and  her 
tears.  He  was  doing  a  magnanimous  thing,  he 
thought,  in   keeping  to  his  old   love  now  that  his 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.4 

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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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i 


90 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


prospects  were  so  improved.  Had  this  all  come 
about  a  few  years  earlier,  perhaps  he  would  hardly 
have  felt  like  engaging  himself  to  a  person  in  Miss 
Jackson's  rather  humble  circumstances.  But,  much 
to  his  surprise,  Simpson  found  his Georgianna glibly 
entertaining  a  tall  man  with  blond  side-whiskers, 
who  dropped  his  h's  ruthlessly,  and,  quite  monopo- 
lizing the  young  lady's  attention,  persistently  stayed 
the  Second-lieutenant  out. 

As  for  Georgianna,  her  manner  toward  her  old 
lover  was  so  changed  that  Simpson,  instead  of  figur- 
ing, as  he  had  fully  expected,  in  a  tender  little  love- 
scene,  found  himself  playing  second  fiddle  to  an 
unexpected  rival,  and  at  last  went  away  feeling 
decidedly  cut  up.  Before  he  went,  however,  he  told 
Georgianna,  with  some  show  of  pique,  that  he 
would  call  again  next  morning,  at  which  announce- 
ment she  did  not  seem  particularly  well  pleased. 

Next  morning  he  did  call,  and  then  Miss  Jackson 
explained.  She  had  got  tired  of  waiting  for  his 
promotion,  had  been  exasperated  at  his  last  letter, 
and  moreover  had  lately  heard  a  rumor  of  his  engage- 
ment to  Miss  Portway ;  and  so  she  had  just  engaged 
herself  to  the  man  with  the  blond  side-whiskers  and 
the  scanty  supply  of  h's,  and  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  marry  him  instead.  She  indignantly  denied  that 
she  was  fickle,  but  charged  him  fiercely  with  having 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers, 


91 


been  cruel  to  her.  Then  she  relented,  burst  into 
tears,  and  declared  that  she  would  never  forget  him; 
but  again  bridled  up  and  told  him  that  she  had  a 
lover  now  who  was  worth  a  dozen  of  him;  that  he 
loved  her  to  distraction,  and  that  that  was  the  end 
of  it. 

Wounded  in  his  tenderest  sensibilities,  the  Second- 
lieutenant  at  once  took  the  train  for  the  West 
Counties. 

He  had  never  been  much  of  a  favorite  with  his 
uncle,  but  he  felt  sure  of  a  royal  welcome  now  that 
he  was  next  heir  to  the  estate.  His  heart  warmed 
with  pride  and  gratification  as  the  fly  he  had  hired 
at  the  station  entered  the  ample  park  gates.  In  his 
hour  of  triumph  he  forgot  even  his  unfortunate  love- 
affair.  He  jumped  briskly  out  of  the  fly,  ran  up 
the  steps  to  the  big  oak  hall-door  and  knocked  with 
an  air  of  proprietorship.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  was 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  his  uncle,  who  received 
his*  condolences  with  marked  taciturnity.  When 
the  Lieutenant  had  got  through  his  little  set  speech, 
the  old  gentleman  rang  a  small  hand-bell  and  gave 
an  order  in  a  low  voice  to  a  servant. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  pleasant-faced,  lady-like 
young  woman  in  deep  mourning  entered  the  room, 
holding  a  three-months'-old  infant  in  her  arms. 

**Effie,  this  is  my  nephew,  Alfred,"  said  Sir  Choi- 


^ 


92 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


mondeley.  "My  son's  widow,  nephew  Alfred;  and 
this  is  the  heir  of  the  estate,"  said  he,  taking  the 
child  from  its  mother. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  my  cousin  was  married,** 
stammered  Simpson,  aghast. 

"Really!  You  hadn't  heard  of  it?"  said  Sir 
Cholmondeley,  a  touch  of  something  like  irony  in 
his  tone.  "Oh,  yes — more  than  a  year  ago!  You 
will  stay  and  dine  with  us,  nephew  ?"  he  added, 
with  a  little  more  cordiality  than  he  had  hitherto 
shown. 

Simpson  stayed,  and  swallowed  his  mortification 
along  with  his  dessert.  He  hadn't  the  faintest  idea 
what  to  do  with  himself,  so  he  eagerly  accepted  an 
invitation  to  stay  a  week  or  two  at  the  hall.  All 
his  hopes,  however,  had  not  been  shattered  by  the 
blow.  Though  he  could  not  return  to  Halifax,  since 
his  creditors  would  be  on  him  like  a  pack  of  wolves, 
and  his  companions  in  arms  would  also  be  urg- 
ing him  to  liquidate  his  "benevolences,"  like 
the  master  of  circumstances  that  he  was,  he  set  to 
work  in  a  new  way  to  repair  his  ruined  fortunes. 
He  began  to  lay  close  siege  to  the  affections  of 
his  cousin's  widow;  and,  early  as  it  was  in  her 
widowhood,  proposed,  but  unexpectedly  met  with  a 
point-blank  refusal.  By  the  aid  of  a  friend  in  the 
Government,  he  then  exchanged  from  the  Slashers 


Simpson  of  the  Slashers. 


93 


to  a  regiment  going  out  to  Burmah,  where  he  was 
sent  up  country  chasing  Dacoits.  This,  however, 
after  a  while  became  tiresome,  so  he  conveniently 
took  a  malarial  fever,  which  did  its  business  most 
effectually,  soon  putting  an  end  to  Simpson  for  all 
time. 

Now,  I  ask.  Was  not  this  a  lame  and  impotent 
conclusion  to  an  interesting  career?  Here  was  a 
fellow  who  had  made  the  most  of  his  opportunities, 
and  yet  was  utterly  thrown  away  for  need  of  a  little 
ready  cash.  Verily,  the  race  is  not  always  to  the 
swift  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong! 


II! 


! 


hi 


111 


HOW  GROSVENOR  GOT  HIS 

CHURCH. 


HOW  GROSVENOR  GOT  HIS 
CHURCH. 


She  saw  their  blind,  unchristian  souls 
Enslaved  to  chasubles  and  stoles; 
No  high-church  notions  could  content  her. 
She  took  her  cue  from  the  dissenter; 
Then  turned  schismatic,  and  with  pelf 
Endowed  a  chapel  for  herself. 

— The  Squire's  Widow. 

Before  the  Durston  and  Tremlow  families  knew 
anything  about  the  matter,  Wilfrid  and  Alice  were 
engaged.  You  may  well  believe  that  the  news 
kicked  up  a  pretty  row  in  the  respective  households. 
Mrs.  Arabella  Tremlow,  Wilfrid's  mother,  said  she 
"would  not  allow  anything  of  the  kind;"  and  when 
Mrs.  Arabella  put  her  foot  down,  it  meant  something. 
She  was  an  aristocrat  to  the  back-bone  and  an 
Episcopalian  to  the  finger-ends;  so  how  in  the 
world  was  she  going  to  put  up  with  a  Baptist 
daughter-in-law — a  girl  whose  ancestors  had  not  had 
the  best  social  standing,  and  who,  in  the  old  days, 
when  the  great  defection  from  the  Church  to  the 
Baptists  occurred  in  Halifax,  had  almost  forfeited 
what    they  had  by  joining  that  movement?    This 

97 


7 


98 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


apostasy  had  never  been  forgiven  by  many  of  the  old 
families  who  still  adhered  to  the  English  Church, 
prominent  among  them  the  Tremlows  and  their 
near  connections,  the  Sterlings. 

It  would  have  been  bad  enough  for  Wilfrid  to  have 
taken  up  with  a  Methodist  or  a  Presbyterian;  but 
with  a"  Baptist  recusant!" — that  was  almost  beyond 
endurance !  The  Durstons  were  nearly  as  set  on  their 
^ide.  The  Church  of  England  had  now  become  an 
abomination  in  their  eyes.  They  would  as  soon 
their  daughter  had  forgathered  with  a  papist.  Alice 
received  a  stern  admonition.  But  the  Durstons, 
assisted  by  all  their  connections,  couldn't  persuade 
her  that  Wilfrid  was  not  the  handsomest,  wisest,  wit- 
tiest, most  agreeable  young  man  in  Halifax;  and  all 
the  loud  objurgations  of  the  Tremlows,  together  with 
the  solemn  protests  of  the  Sterlings  (who  were  Wil- 
frid's  mother's  people),  could  not  prevent  the  con- 
tumacious young  man  from  maintaining  that  Alice 
was  the  sweetest,  loveliest,  daintiest,  brightest, 
dearest  girl  in  town. 

Now,  when  two  young  people  get  such  ideas  of 
each  other  firmly  fixed  in  their  minds  and  hearts, 
there  is  going  to  be  a  "  tug  of  war"  should  an 
attempt  be  made  to  separate  them;  and  this  the 
Durstons  and  Tremlows  soon  found  out.  But  the 
two  principals  in  this  affair  were  under  an  awkward 


How  Grosvcnor  got  his  Church. 


99 


disadvantage.  Ilotli  of  them  were  absolutely  depend- 
ent on  their  families,  and  neither  understood  any- 
thing of  business.  Alice  had  been  brought  up  to  be 
a  good  housewife,  but  she  knew  very  little  about 
battling  with  the  world.  Wilfrid,  who  had  been 
delicate  in  his  youth,  had  never  been  put  to  work, 
and  was  absolutely  dependent  on  his  mother,  who, 
though  wealthy,  held  the  purse-strings  with  a  tight 
hand. 

Mrs.  Tremlow's  first  suspicion  of  her  son's  wanton 
disregard  of  the  traditions  of  his  house  came  from 
seeing  him  on  Sunday  evenings  forsaking  the  minis- 
trations of  that  excellent  Low  Churchman,  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Dole.  Mrs.  Arabella  herself  (except  when  the 
weather  was  very  stormy)  had  never  neglected 
either  of  the  Sunday  services,  and  she  was  always 
punctual  at  week-day  prayers  as  well.  She  had 
sat  for  the  last  forty  years  in  an  old-fashioned, 
straight-backed  square  pew,  with  horse-hair  cushions 
on  the  seats — covered  with  faded  majenta  repp — 
and  a  little  crimson  cloth-covered  table  in  the  centre 
to  hold  the  books.  To  this  pew  she  had  brought 
Wilfrid,  during  all  his  childhood  and  youth,  to  the 
time  of  his  coming  of  age.  Now  she  heard  with 
horror  and  indignation  that  after  partaking  for  a 
score  of  years  of  the  pure  milk  of  the  Word  as 
administered   by   the   Rev.   Dr.   Dole,  Wilfrid  had 


^■B 


loo 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


been  stealing  off  of  a  Sunday  evening  to  the  Baptist 
Chapel  to  listen  to  the  effusive  and  heretical  ex- 
hortations of  Mr.  Deering,  the  dissenting  minister. 
But  when,  on  being  brought  to  book,  Wilfrid  had 
boldly  declared  his  preference  for  the  expositions 
of  Mr.  Deering,  and  capped  the  climax  of  audacity 
by  asking  his  mother's  consent  to  marry  Alice 
Durston,  the  lady's  indignation  knew  no  bounds. 
She  set  her  mouth  rigidly,  and  the  lace  and  lavender 
bows  on  her  old-fashioned  cap  shook  angrily.  She 
told  Wilfrid  roundly  that  not  a  penny  of  her  money 
should  go  to  him  if  he  married  a  Baptist,  and  asked 
him  in  irony  if  there  was  no  young  lady  in  his  own 
church  worthy  of  the  honor  of  his  alliance.  To  this 
Wilfrid  gave  the  only  answer  he  had  ready — the 
answer  of  all  accused  lovers — that  it  didn't  make 
any  difference  who  might  be  in  the  world  besides, 
his  affections  were  unalterably  fixed  on  this  one 
woman,  who  was  all  in  all  to  him.  His  mother 
sniffed  and  pooh-poohed  him  and  called  him  a  sim- 
pleton, and  as  neither  side  would  give  in,  they 
came  no  nearer  an  agreement.  Alice,  on  her  side, 
was  enjoined  by  her  family  never  to  see  Wilfrid 
more;  and  as  she  was  a  good  girl,  for  a  week  she 
managed  to  obey.  After  that  she  frequently  met 
her  lover — by  accident,  of  course — at  the  chapel  on 
Sunday    evenings.       But    finally,    like    a    woman 


ll!     \-    ! 


,!i      ■ 


How  Grosvcnor  got  his  Church,  loi 


of  spirit,  she  resolved  to  take  matters  into  her  own 
hands,  and  one  Sunday  night,  perfectly  conscious  of 
the  risk  she  was  running,  without  ceremony  asked 
Wilfrid  to  the  house.  The  Durstons,  hospitable 
people,  were  constrained  to  make  themselves  agree- 
able, and  Wilfrid  on  his  part,  by  his  modest  bear- 
ing and  courteous  manners,  rather  prepossessed 
them  in  his  favor.  Knowing,  however,  the  deter- 
mined opposition  of  his  mother,  the  Durstons  with 
proper  spirit  kept  from  any  demonstrations  of 
pleasure  in  the  match,  though  they  now  withdrew 
open  objection.  But  a  new  turn  in  events  entirely 
changed  the  aspect  of  this  love  affair. 

Dr.  Dole  was  getting  old,  and  the  active  work  of 
the  parish  fell  upon  a  young  and  zealous  curate, 
fresh  from  college.  This  "new  broom,"  the  Rev. 
Pascal  Hodgkins,  was  for  doing  away  with  many 
of  the  old  methods  of  St.  Jude's,  and  substituting 
for  them  what  he  called  more  churchly  ones. 
He  advocated  a  more  elaborate  ritual  than  had 
heretofore  been  in  use,  for  the  first  time  intro- 
duced the  surplice  in  the  pulpit,  and  appeared  in 
richly  embroidered  colored  stoles.  Then,  dismissing 
the  old  choir  from  the  gallery,  he  had  the  music 
rendered  by  vested  choristers  instead.  It  was  even 
thought  he  wanted  to  make  processionals  a  feature 

of  the  service.     He  used  the  eastward  position  in 
7 


•I 


i 


I!  i 


102 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


the  creed,  and  sometimes  read  evening  prayer  in  a 
way  that  to  the  uninitiated  sounded  strangely  like 
intoning.  These  important  changes  gave  great 
offence,  particularly  to  Mrs.  Arabella  Tremlow, 
who  saw  Jesuitical  guile  and  papal  sophistry  in 
them  all.  But  when  the  zealous  curate  persuaded 
the  Doctor  to  put  in  new  chancel  furniture,  replace 
the  old  altar-rail  with  one  of  improved  design,  and 
for  the  time-honored  reading-desk  substitute  a  brand- 
new,  costly  eagle  lectern,  the  older  members  of  St. 
Jude's  held  up  their  hands  in  holy  horror.  Mr. 
Hodgkins,  too,  rigorously  observed  the  saints'  days, 
and  was  accused  by  some  of  offering  prayers  for  the 
dead;  but  this  latter  serious  charge  was  not  estab- 
lished. 

Mrs.  Tremlow  looked  upon  Mr.  Hodgkins  with  an 
eye  of  grov/ing  disfavor.  "Let  him  carry  his  re- 
forms somewhere  else;  they  are  not  needed  in  St. 
Jude's,"  she  said  to  those  who  defended  the  curate 
as  a  reformer.  She  even  absented  herself  from  the 
week  day  services,  and  only  her  attachment  to  St. 
Jude's  and  her  respect  for  old  Dr.  Dole  kept  her  at 
her  familiar  post  on  Sundays.  But  a  crisis  came 
when  Mrs.  Tremlow  took  a  severe  sickness.  She 
had  expected  her  old  pastor  to  call  upon  her,  but  in 
his  place  came  Mr,  Hodgkins,  with  a  gold  crucifix 
pendent   from  his  watch-chain,   and  with  his  con- 


How  Grosvenor  got  his  Church,  103 


versation  decidedly  smaoJcing  of  ritualism.  Mrs. 
Tremlow  gave  word  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see 
him  again.  She  grew  worse,  however,  and  Wilfrid 
became  alarmed.  He  loved  his  mother  dearly,  for 
though  she  had  opposed  him  in  his  choice  of  a  wife, 
she  had  always  been  a  kind  and  considerate  mother 
to  him.  Wilfrid  at  length  went  to  her  room  and 
said:  "Mother,  Mr.  Deering  has  asked  after  you  a 
number  of  times.  He  would  come  to  see  you  if  you 
would  let  him.  He  is  a  very  excellent  man — so 
attentive  to  the  sick  and  so  good  to  the  poor!  I 
know  Dr.  Dole  has  a  great  respect  for  him,  though 
of  course  Mr.  Hodgkins  does  not  like  him.  He  is 
liberal-minded  and  one  of  the  fairest  men  in  his 
opinions  I  ever  saw — not  narrow  and  bigoted  like 
some  in  our  own  church.  If  I  asked  him  to  call 
you  wouldn't  mind  seeing  him,  would  you?  He 
doesn't  talk  like  a  Baptist  at  all." 

But  Mrs.  Tremlow  shook  her  head.  "  Why  doesn't 
Dr.  Dole  come  ?"  she  answered. 

"He's  not  well,  he  says;  and  you  know,  mother, 
he's  getting  old." 

"H'm!  not  too  old,  I  should  think,  to  make  an 
effort  to  see  a  member  of  his  church  who  has  done 
her  duty  under  him  for  thirty  years!  I'm  afraid, 
Wilfrid,  the  Doctor  has  fallen  under  the  influence  of 
that  whipper-snapper  of  a  curate.      How  I  detest 


1 1^ 


104 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


1 ' 


\V: 

V 


the  fellow,  with  his  airs  and  new-fangled  notions! 
Why  doesn't  he  go  over  to  Rome?  That's  the 
place  for  him!  Turning  the  heads  of  silly  young 
people  till  they  don't  know  whether  they  are  Prot- 
estants or  not!" 

Next  day  Wilfrid  repeated  his  attack.  "  Mother, " 
he  said,  "  Mr.  Deering,  you  know,  is  acquainted 
with  me,  and  he  called  to  inquire  for  you,  but 
knowing  you  were  a  Churchwoman  didn't  ask  to 
see  you.  He  said  he  would  call  again  to-morrow. 
Isn't  that  kind  of  him?" 

His  mother  answered  nothing. 

Mr.  Deering  called  the  next  day,  and  it  was  duly 
reported  by  Wilfrid. 

"If  he  calls  to-morrow,  Wilfrid,  show  him  up," 
said  Mrs.  Tremlow.  "One  can't  be  put  under  obli- 
gation without  making  some  return,  even  to  a 
dissenter." 

So  the  next  day  Mr.  Deering  called  and  saw  Mrs. 
Tremlow.  He  talked  cheerfully,  stayed  but  a  few 
minutes,  and  avoided  religious  topics.  Mrs.  Trem- 
low was  favorably  impressed.  "  No  cant  about  your 
Baptist,  anyway!"  she  remarked  to  Wilfrid;  "and 
in  that  respect  he's  an  improvement  on  that  Mr. 
Hodgkins." 

Mr.  Deering  called  again,  and  although  she  de- 
clared that  he  was  trying  to  make  a  proselyte  of 


How  Grosvenor  got  his  Church.  105 


her,  his  attention  flattered  the  self-esteem  of  the 
proud  old  Churchwoman.  After  his  visit  she  was 
in  a  most  gracious  mood.  "Wilfrid,"  she  said, 
with  apparent  pettishness,  "how  is  it  you  are  not 
leaving  me  to  run  after  that  little  Baptist  girl? 
One  would  think,  you  deceitful  fellow,  that  your 
old  mother  was  the  only  person  in  your  thoughts; 
but  I  know  better.  I  am  convinced  your  mind's 
running  to  the  Baptists  continually,  if  your  legs 
are  not.  I  believe  you  are  secretly  inviting  Mr. 
Deering  here." 

"Mother!"  answered  Wilfrid  reproachfully. 

"Oh,  of  course  you  are  a  great  big  innocent! 
Such  a  thought  never  entered  your  mind!  Well, 
you've  been  very  faithful  and  constant  to  your  poor 
old  mother,  and  she  is  feeling  much  better.  I've 
a  mind  to  give  you  a  little  indulgence  for  being  a 
good  boy.  You  can  tell  the  Baptist  girl  that  she 
can  call  to-morrow  and  see  me.  Now  don't  kiss  the 
cap  off  my  head!  I'm  not  making  any  promise  to 
you — mind  that!  I'm  only  curious  to  see  the  girl 
who  has  been  leading  you  astray.  Go  away  now, 
and  send  the  nurse;  I'm  tired." 

The  nc\t  day  Wilfrid  brought  Alice  to  the  house. 
The  young  girl  was  timid  and  constrained  at  first, 
for  she  stood  much  in  awe  of  Wilfrid's  mother;  but 
Mrs.  Tremlow  unbent  and  chatted  to  Alice  in  such 


3    rt, 


II   II 


I.*' 
V, 


I  06 


Ta/cs  of  a  Garrison    Town, 


a  kind  and  motherly  way  that  the  latter  soon  threw 
off  her  reserve  and  showed  herself  to  the  elder 
woman  the  possessor  of  all  the  good  and  charming 
qualities  that  Wilfrid  had  enthusiastically  credit- 
ed her  with.  She  unostentatiously  paid  the  sick 
woman  a  hundred  small  attentions,  and  being  as 
dainty  and  light-footed  as  a  bird,  was  an  admi- 
rable attendant.  It  is  generally  the  case  that  stern 
and  proud  natures  form  quicker  and  stronger  attach- 
ments than  those  of  a  gentler  and  more  yield- 
ing sort;  and  Mrs.  Tremlow  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule.  She  grew  at  once  attached  to  Alice,  and 
kept  her  continually  near  her  during  her  convales- 
cence. Tacitly  she  gave  assent  to  Wilfrid's  engage- 
ment, and  took  no  trouble  to  keep  the  young  people 
apart.  "She  can't  help  being  a  Baptist,  Wilfrid; 
she  was  brought  up  to  know  nothing  better — the 
more  shame  to  her  relations,  who  had  the  bad  taste 
to  leave  St.  Jude's!  But  her  good  qualities  are  all 
her  own.  I  won't  find  fault  with  you  for  liking 
her;  I  like  her  myself." 

So  next  day  when  Alice  came  as  usual,  Mrs.  Trem- 
low called  her  to  her  chair. 

"You  love  Wilfrid  very  badly,  my  dear?"  she 
asked. 

Alice  blushed  carnation. 

"  No  need  to  answer-  I  see.     Well,  you  shall  have 


How  Grosvenor  got  his  Church.  107 


him,  dear,  for  you  are  a  good  girl.     We'll  have  to 
make  a  Church  woman  of  you,  though." 

And  so  the  matter  was  settled. 

The  Tremlows  and  Sterlings,  however,  heard  of 
the  engagement  and  came  to  the  house.  "  I'repos- 
terous!"  they  said. 

"I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  Alice,"  was  all  Mrs. 
Arabella  deigned  to  answer. 

"  Oh,  but  a  Baptist !"  they  said.  "  Who  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing?" 

"She  will  make  Wilfrid  a  very  good  wife.  I 
am  quite  capable  of  attending  to  the  dignity  of 
my  family,"  retorted  the  old  lady,  drawing  herself 
up. 

"  But  what  a  narrow,  Pu*-'       .cal  set!" 

"There  are  worse  people  than  the  Baptists,"  was 
Mrs.  Tremlow's  sententious  reply. 

Wilfrid's  mother  got  well  and  laid  her  plans. 
Alice  was  her  son's  affianced,  and  as  such  was 
under  her  protection.  "They  shall  receive  her — 
yes,  every  one  of  them!"  she  said  to  herself.  She 
spared  no  pains  to  make  the  engagement  known, 
and  she  took  Alice  with  her  everywhere.  At  the 
least  sign  of  a  slight  to  the  girl,  the  old  lady  made 
the  quarrel  her  own;  and  it  was  no  light  thing  to 
offend  Mrs.  Tremlow,  who  could  boast  of  the  best 
connections  in  Halifax,  knew  the  family  secrets  of 


n 


;>-  f: 


ill 


io8 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


ill: 


flii 


most  of  the  people  in  the  town,  and  had  a  caustic 
and  fearless  tongu€. 

But  the  church  question  was  a  real  difficulty.  Wil- 
frid's mother  would  not  go  to  St.  Jude's,  now  that 
Mr.  Hodgkins  had  come  to  exercise  almost  undis- 
puted sway  there,  and  yet  she  could  not  consent  to 
Wilfrid's  marrying  until  Alice  became  a  Church- 
woman.  There  were  other  churches  to  go  to,  it 
was  true;  but  the  Rev.  Howard  Singleton,  of  St. 
Alban's,  was  also  very  high  church — in  Mrs.  Trem- 
low's  opinion  almost  a  papist — and  St.  Peter's, 
where  the  Rev.  Philo  Briggs  ministered,  was  for 
several  reasons  quite  out  of  the  question. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  there  came  just  at  this 
time  to  St.  Barnabas'  Mission  a  young  clergyman 
from  New  Brunswick,  by  the  name  of  Grosvenor. 
He  was  liberal-minded  and  zealous,  had  a  winning 
manner,  and  was  a  decided  Low  Churchman.  Mrs. 
Tremlow  went  directly  to  hear  him,  "That's  the 
man  for  us!"  she  said  to  Wilfrid,  and  on  being  in- 
troduced to  the  young  clergyman  at  once  invited 
him  to  tea.  She  had  a  long  talk  with  him  on 
Church  doctrine,  and  while  he  went  further  than 
she  in  liberality  of  opinion,  his  way  of  looking 
at  things  on  the  whole  pleased  her. 

"You  need  a  church  badly,  Mr.  Grosvenor,"  she 
said. 


How  Grosvenor  got  his  Church,  109 


Mr.  Grosvenor  admitted  the  fact.  "  But  the 
Church  people  of  Halifax  generally,  and  even  the 
Bishop,  are  not  in  sympathy  with  me,"  he  added, 
smiling. 

"  We  are  in  sympathy  with  you,  sir,"  replied  the 
old  lady,  in  a  stately  manner,  and  with  her  lips 
tightening.  '*  The  Bishop — h'm!  Half  the  Epis- 
copalians of  Halifax  are  fools,  I  am  compelled 
to  say.  Mr.  Grosvenor,  you  shall  have  a  church, 
and  the  first  members  of  it  will  be  viy  family.  I 
have  a  son  who  has  been  straying  away  to  the  Bap- 
tists, but  you  must  bring  him  back.  You  will 
perhaps  call  here  and  see  his  intended  wife?  She  is 
at  present  a  Baptist,  but  very  sensible  and  open  to 
reason.  The  marriage  is  conditional  on  her  be- 
coming a  Churchwoman.  You  are  the  man  I  have 
been  waiting  for  to  convert  her." 

Mr.  Grosvenor  called  and  saw  Alice.  Zeal  for  his 
church,  ambition  for  the  powerful  aid  of  the  Trem- 
lows,  and  interest  in  the  pretty  young  woman,  who 
opened  her  mind  to  him  freely,  incited  the  young 
clergyman  to  his  best.  He  made  the  case  so  clear 
to  Alice  by  his  arguments,  and  Wilfrid  looked  at 
her  so  wistfully,  that  when  he  finished  the  Baptist 
faith  had  not  a  leg  to  stand  on,  and  Alice,  much 
to  the  joy  of  her  affianced,  was  willing  to  become  a 
Churchwoman. 


I  10 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


i' 


Wilfrid  carried  the  good  news  to  his  mother. 

"Alice  may  get  her  things  ready  as  soon  as  she 
likes,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Ask  Mr.  Grosvenor  to 
call  and  see  me." 

"Mr.  Grosvenor,"  she  said,  when  that  gentleman 
had  come,  "you  have  done  well.  You  need  no 
longer  be  over-considerate  of  the  ritualists  of  Hali- 
fax or  the  IJishop.  I  will  pay  for  your  church, 
and  you  shall  have  free  scope.  I  think  this  ought 
to  give  you  a  respectable  building,  but  if  you  need 
more  come  to  me.  I  have,  sir,  every  confidence  in 
you,"  and  she  put  into  the  astonished  clergyman's 
hand  a  check  for  twelve  thousand  dollars. 

This  is  how  Grosvenor  got  his  church. 


i 


t 


she 
r  to 


nan 
no 
ili- 
ch, 
jht 
;ed 
in 

I'S 


MRS.  BUCKINGHAM'S  REVENGE. 


I   I  ■  M' 


MRS.  BUCKINGHAM'S  REVENGE. 


*'By  this  good  liKht,  a  wench  of  matchh-ss  mettle," — Scott. 


Since  the  day  when  young  Gilsby,  the  South 
African,  made  such  a  fool  of  himself  over  her,  Mrs. 
Buckingham  had  been  more  talked  of  than  any  other 
person  in  Halifax.  The  officers  of  the  Derby  Rifles 
were  her  stanch  friends,  and  many  of  the  married 
and  single  men  of  Halifax  admired  her  exceedingly. 
But  the  Halifax  women  could  not  bear  her.  Prud- 
ery fled  affrighted  from  her  presence,  immaculate 
respectability  shunned  the  touch  of  her  garments. 
But  what  did  Mrs.  Buckingham  care  for  the  Halifax 
women  so  long  as  she  could  captivate  their  husbands 
and  lovers  and  in  dress  outshine  them  all?  She 
had  more  admirers  among  the  men  than  any  dozen  of 
them.  She  laughed  at  them  and  caricatured  them, 
to  the  vast  amusement  of  her  admirers.  On  one 
occasion,  however,  Mrs.  Buckingham  was  startled 
quite  out  of  her  usual  good-natured  disdain,  and  it 
came  in  this  way. 

There  wa#  a  grand  military  ball  given  in  Halifax 

the  winter  after  her  arrival,  and  Mrs  Buckingham 

"3 


114 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivu. 


was  there.  As  she  was  a  splendid  dancer  she  had 
been  much  sought  after  as  a  partner  by  the  gay 
young  bloods  at  the  various  hops  and  social  fes- 
tivities to  which  she  had  managed  to  get  invited. 
She  had  always  been  tolerated  in  mixed  assemblies, 
and  up  to  the  time  of  the  military  ball  had  never 
received  a  public  slight;  but  on  the  evening  in 
question  she  was  engaged  for  the  lancers  by  Captain 
Martin,  of  the  Rifles,  and  was  just  entering  the  set 
on  that  gentleman's  arm,  when  the  lady  who  was 
her  vis-il-vts  refused  to  dance  and  precipitately 
retired.  Mrs.  Buckingham  shot  a  keen  glance  at 
her,  smiled  a  little,  and  fingered  her  bracelet.  Then 
there  was  an  awkward  pause  until  Mrs.  Bertram's 
place  could  be  filled.  Mr.  Bertram,  the  lady's  hus- 
band, who  was  in  the  same  set,  blushed  and  frowned 
at  his  wife's  a  lions,  and  bit  his  lip  with  vexation. 
His  wife's  conspicuous  prudery  nettled  him,  though 
he  had  never  been  a  friend  of  the  woman  she  had 
insulted.  When  the  dance  was  done  he  took  an 
early  opportunity  to  attempt  a  smoothing  over  of 
the  situation.  Mrs.  Buckingham  received  him 
graciously  and  with  perfect  ease,  and  when  he 
made  a  delicate  attempt  at  an  apology,  merely 
lifted  her  eyebrows  and  remarked  how  well  Mrs. 
Bertram  looked,  and  how  fortunate  Mr.  Bertram 
was  to  have  a  wife  with  such  taste  in  dress.     This 


Mrs.   nmkingham  s  Revenge. 


115 


calmness  aiul  j^cnerosity  filled  Mr.  Bertram  with 
admiration,  and  lie  mentally  declared  that  Mrs. 
lUickingham  was  a  much-abused  person.  He  asked 
permission  to  call  soon  upon  her,  and  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham nodded  a  pleasant  assent. 

"  Rash  man!  you  would  see  the  ogress  in  her  den? 
It  is  very  dangerous,"  she  said,  extending  her 
shapely  fingers  and  giving  him  a  bewitching  smile. 
Then  she  bowed  and  left  him.  She  never  granted 
a  new  admirer  more  than  a  few  minutes'  conversa- 
tion at  a  time,  but  always  cut  the  colloquy  short  at 
its  most  interesting  point.  A  shrewd  woman  was 
Mrs.  Buckingham! 

Bertram  called,  and  Mrs.  Buckingham  exerted  all 
her  power  to  captivate  him.  The  upshot  of  the 
matter  was  that  in  a  few  weeks  his  infatua- 
tion was  the  talk  of  the  town,  Mrs.  Buckingham 
had  him  almost  as  much  under  her  thumb  as  that 
poor  chough,  Gilsby.  He  would  be  at  the  hotel  two 
or  three  times  a  week,  and  nothing  that  any  one 
could  do  or  say  would  stop  him.  When  once  a  man 
got  into  Mrs.  Buckingham's  hands  he  was  never  his 
own  master  again  till  she  grew  tired  of  him.  And 
no'Y  that  lady  was  intent  upon  gaining  complete 
control  of  Bertram,  and  there  was  little  likelihood 
that  she  would  drop  him  until  she  had  ruined  him 
and  his  household.     She  was  not  ordinarily  vindic- 


Ill 

f  i 


)  . 


I  h 
»  >■ 

hi 


i  i 


I! 


Ii6 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


tive,  but  no  woman  will  be  snubbed  or  insulted  in 
public  without  trying  to  get  even  with  the  offender; 
and  Mrs.  Buckingham  was  by  no  means  a  person  when 
smitten  to  offer  the  other  cheek.  '*  I  will  teach 
these  prudes  of  Halifax  a  lesson,"  she  said  to  herself. 
She  took  just  the  opposite  course  with  Bertram 
from  that  she  had  taken  with  Gilsby.  This  con- 
duct showed  her  to  be  a  woman  of  keen  insight. 
She  treated  Bertram  with  respect,  even  deference, 
and  with  him  discarded  for  the  time  her  free-and- 
easy  air.  This  in  so  regal  a  personage  tickled  the 
man's  vanity.  Mrs.  Bertram  sighed  and  sulked, 
and  shed  tears,  and  put  herself  in  every  way  at  a 
disadvantage.  She  was  not  as  fme-looking  as  Mrs. 
Buckingham;  but  she  had  a  sweet,  pure  face,  with  a 
complexion  that  tears  did  not  improve.  This 
sniffling  annoyed  Bertram.  He  was  not  conscious 
that  he  regarded  Mrs.  Buckingham  in  any  other 
light  than  that  of  an  uncomplaining  woman  who  had 
been  unjustly  treated  by  the  public  and  insulted  by 
his  wife.  He  would  have  liked,  he  said  to  himself, 
to  have  Mrs.  Bertram  make  the  amende  honorable  by 
calling  and  apologizing.  He  did  not,  however, 
venture  to  ask  her  to  do  so.  If  she  really  felt 
aggrieved,  why  did  she  not  speak  out,  instead  of 
moping  around  the  house?  These  silent,  reproach- 
ful angels  were  insufferable.     He  was  always  sure  of 


Mrs,  Buckingham' s  Revenge. 


117 


by 
'If, 


:h- 
of 


smiles  at  the  other  place.  If  his  wife  had  either  a 
little  more  spirit  or  a  little  more  good-nature,  he 
and  she  could  soon  come  to  a  satisfactory  explana- 
tion. He  was  intensely  virtuous  in  his  indignation 
at  his  wife.  Come  what  might,  he  was  not  going 
to  give  up  Mrs.  Buckingham's  society  for  a  silly 
woman's  unjust  whim.  Bertram  was  touchy  on 
points  of  personal  conduct,  and  none  of  his  friends 
dared  say  more  to  him  than  to  hint  that  he  was 
being  talked  about.  This  only  made  him  more  set 
in  his  resolution.  But  poor  Mrs.  Bertram  grew 
more  and  more  distressed.  She  saw  her  husband 
gradually  falling  completely  into  the  power  of  this 
dreadful  woman,  who  was  visiting  upon  her  such  an 
excjuisite  revenge.  She  felt  that  complaints  to  him 
would  be  useless,  and  she  was  almost  in  despair. 
She  trembled  lest  he  should  go  so  far  as  to  compel 
her  to  sue  for  justice  in  a  divorce  court.  There 
was  no  telling  what  tragic  thing  might  happen. 
How  could  she  stop  this  strange  infatuation?  Des- 
perate projects,  which  she  had  not  the  courage  to 
carry  out,  flitted  through  her  brain.  She  had  read 
of  women's  denouncing  their  rivals  in  public — even, 
in  extremity,  of  their  horsewhipping  them;  but  such 
expedients  were  of  doubtful  efficacy,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  scandal  and  disgrace  they  would  occasion. 

She  thought  the  matter  over  carefully,  and  at  last 
8 


( 

i'  ] 


I 


I    ;«■ 


li 


i'  ■*« 


ii8 


Ta/cs  of  a  Garrison    Toivn. 


made  up  her  mind.  She  took  advantage  of  her  hus- 
band's absence  for  a  day  in  the  country,  and  as  soon 
as  luncheon  was  over,  slipped  on  her  bonnet  and 
veil  and  took  her  way  to  the  Halifax  Hotel.  She 
sent  up  her  card  to  Mrs.  Buckingham  and  was  shown  ' 
to  that  lady's  parlor.  Trembling  visibly,  she 
tnew  aside  her  veil  and  stood  before  her  rival. 
Mrs.  Buckingham  was  sitting  dressed  in  an  exquisite 
pink  cashmere  wrapper,  with  pink  flowers  tied  into 
the  loops  of  her  heavy  golden  hair,  and  a  pearl  and 
diamond  star  glittering  pendent  from  a  heavy  gold 
necklet  on  her  breast.  As  her  visitor  entered  she 
laid  down  a  new  French  novel  and,  rising,  made 
her  a  sweeping  courtesy.  Mrs.  Bertram  gazed  at  her 
in  astonishment.  She  had  wondered  how  a  woman 
of  forty  could  so  have  fascinated  her  husband.  The 
secret  was  explained.  This  Mrs.  Buckingham  was 
an  artist.  Even  while  she  dreaded  and  hated  her, 
Mrs.  Bertram  was  forced  to  admire  the  consummate 
skill,  even  splendid  audacity,  with  which  her  rival's 
toilet  had  been  composed.  Mrs.  Buckingham  waved 
her  gracefully  to  a  chair,  "  Bray  be  seated,  Mrs. 
Bertram,"  she  said  in  her  sweetest  voice.  "lam 
so  glad  you  have  called!  Your  husband  has  often 
spoken  of  you. " 

This   bold    thrust   quite    disconcerted    the    wife. 
Her  lips  trembled  and  she  sank  into  the  chair  pant- 


Mrs,  Buckingham' s  Revenge. 


119 


ing,  and  then,  putting  her  hands  to  her  face,  burst 
into  tears.  • 

"Will  you  use  my  vinaigrette,  dear  Mrs. 
Bertram?"  The  lady  addressed  made  a  mighty 
effort  to  check  herself,  and  looked  up.  Mrs.  Buck- 
ingham's face  was  as  calm  as  if  it  had  been  carved 
out  of  stone.  She  was  holding  out  a  silver-mounted 
cut-glass  vial  with  the  air  of  a  benignant  goddess. 
Mrs.  Bertram  pushed  it  away  with  her  hand,  '*  You 
ought  to  admire  it,  it  was  the  gift  of  your  hus- 
band," said  the  other  sweetly. 

The  words  seemed  to  sting  Mrs.  Bertram  almost 

beyond  endurance.      "How  dare  he?"  she  exclaimed 

« 
excitedly,    and  with   rising   color;  "how  dare  he? 

This  is    infamous!       Why    do    you    add     insult    to 

injury?     Have  you  no  pity,  woman?     Can  you  not 

see  that  you  have  driven  me  almost  to  despair?" 

"Really?  Your  husband  told  me  that  you  had 
very  little  spirit.  We  are  often  deceived  in  the 
characters  of  those  we  love.  But  you  forget,  dear 
Mrs.  Bertram,  that  it  is  I  who  ought  to  complain  of 
being  insulted.  You  remember  the  military  ball, 
do  you  not  ?" 

"  I  came  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  that — I  did, 
indeed!  O  Mrs.  Buckingham!  you  have  been  a 
wife;  listen  to  the  prayer  of  a  heart-broken  womani 
Give  me  back  my  husband!" 


il'f 


I20 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Tozuii. 


1 ' 

la 


If 
If 


If 


.    si 


The  words  "  have  been  a  wife"  seemed  to  electrify 
the  grass-widow.  She  flastied  a  fierce  look  at  the 
suppliant  and  drew  her  lips  hard  over  her  teeth,  but 
her  wonderful  self-command  asserted  itself.  Next 
moment  she  was  the  same  calm,  smiling,  nonchalant 
woman  as  before. 

"  You  make  a  strange  plea,"  she  answered,  slightly 
raising  her  eyebrows.  "  You  are  quite  mistaken. 
Your  husband  is  nothing  to  me — not  the  value  of 
that  little  bottle!"  and  she  gave  a  contemptuous 
laugh  as  she  held  up  the  vinaigrette  daintily 
between  her  thumb  and  finger. 

"But  he  is  much  to  me,"  cried  the  wife,  her  face 
streaming  with  tears.  "  Indeed,  he  was  a  loving 
husband  till  he  met  you,  Mrs.  Buckingham.  He 
would  not  have  left  me  if  you  had  not  lured  him 
away.  O  woman,  if  you  have  ever  had  a  child, 
listen  to  the  prayer  of  a  wife  who  is  soon  to  be  a 
mother!  Would  you  embitter  a  husband's  heart 
against  his  wife  and  alienate  him  from  her  in  the 
midst  of  her  suffering?  Would  you  lay  a  burden  of 
reproach  upon  an  innocent  child  ?  You  are  a  ter- 
rible woman,  but  you  are  said  sometimes  to  have  a 
generous  heart.  You  have  a  thousand  admirers.  I 
had  but  one,  and  he  was  my  all.  I  worshipped  him 
— worship  him  still.  If  I  did  you  wrong  I  am  truly 
sorry  for  it,  and  you  have  paid  me  back  a  hundred- 


I 

I 


"  Mrs.  Buckingham  rose.     '  Please  let  go  my  gown,'  she  said,  in 
a  quiet  tone." 


it 


I 


! 


I   t    !■' 


il     IS     I 


Mrs.  Buckingham  5  kn^cnge. 


123 


fold.     You  can  do  with  him  what  you  will.     Then 
give  him  back  to  me,  or  I  shall  die!" 

The  wife's  voice  was  choked  with  sobs.  She 
knelt  at  Mrs.  Buckingham's  feet,  and  in  an  aban- 
donment of  entreaty  buried  her  hands  in  the 
soft,  flowing  pink  robe.  Mrs.  Buckingham  rose. 
"Please  let  go  of  my  gown,"  she  said  in  a  quiet 
tone.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with 
swift,  panther-like  steps,  laughing  a  little  to  her- 
self; but  mixed  with  her  triumph  there  was  evidently 
some  feeling  of  compassion  for  the  helpless  victim 
at  her  feet.  Mrs.  Bertram,  with  the  intuition  of 
despair,  had  usee*  the  only  plea  which  could  have 
been  successful.  Mrs.  Buckingham  was  proof 
against  the  appeal  of  the  wife,  but  that  of  the 
mother  was  irresistible.  No  woman  not  utterly 
depraved  could  resist  it.  Suddenly  she  paused  in 
front  of  the  still  kneeling  wife,  and  her  eyes  soft- 
ened. "  I  understand  that  you  apologize  for  your 
wanton  insult  to  me  at  the  ball  ?"  she  said  quietly, 

"Indeed — indeed  I  do!  I  have  regretted  it  for  a 
long  time." 

"That  is  well.  Now  promise  me  you  will  not 
torment  your  husband  because  he  has  been  friendly 
with  me!     No  reproaches,  you  understand!" 

"I  will  forgive  and  forget  all  if  he  will  only 
come  back  to  me!" 


I 


124 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


\  > 


>lif 


"That  is  well,  too.  Now  for  the  third  condition. 
When  you  hear  the  name  of  Mrs.  Buckingham 
aspersed,  you  will  say  that  whatever  her  faults  may 
be  she  is  not  devoid  of  generosity  and  womanly 
feeling?" 

The  wife  silently  assented,  and  Mrs.  Buckingham 
gave  her  her  hand.  "  We  have  been  quite  melo- 
dramatic,"  she  said,  in  her  half-mocking  tone,  as 
she  helped  the  young  wife  to  her  feet.  "  I  suppose 
you  will  not  want  me  to  name  the  baby?  Never 
fear!"  she  added,  laughing,  as  she  saw  an  alarmed 
look  come  over  Mrs.  Bertram's  face.  "You  know  I 
am  a  great  stickler  for  the  proprieties,  and  perhaps 
it  would  hardly  do.  Make  your  mind  easy  about 
your  husband.  I  give  him  back  to  you  as  a  Christ- 
mas present,"  and  she  showed  the  bewildered  and 
happy  wife  to  the  door.  "Since  I  am  to  act  the 
part  of  good  fairy,  you  must  remember  my  condi- 
tions, or  ucx/  time  I  will  not  let  you  off  so  easily. 
En  aviifif,  you  good  little  soul!  and  don't  tell  your 
husband  that  you  have  been  here!" 

"Was  ever  such  effrontery!"  said  Mrs.  Bertram 
to  herself  when  she  had  got  over  her  bewilderment; 
"but  there  is  something  grand  about  the  woman.  I 
don't  wonder  men  admire  her.  If  she  will  only 
keep  her  word!" 

Next  day  came  Bertram  to  pay  his  usual  respects 


Mrs.  Buckingham's  Revenge, 


125 


to  Mrs.  Buckingham.  He  had  brought  her  a 
splendid  bouquet  of  flowers.  She  received  him  very 
coolly. 

"Really,  my  friend,"  she  said,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  "aren't  you  troubling  yourself  about 
me  a  little  too  much  ?" 

Bertram's  face  grew  red.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
he  stammered. 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  this  Platonic  affection  has  gone 
far  enough.  Very  interesting  and  delightful  while 
it  lasted,  but  I  assure  you  I  am  tired  of  it.  By  the 
way,  when  did  you  last  present  your  wife  with  such 
a  bouquet  as  this?" 

"  My  wife  ?     Why  do  you  ask  the  question  ?" 

"Oh,  simply  because  I  suspect  that  sweet  little 
morsel  of  femininity  has  been  somewhat  neglected 
of  late!  Is  it  true  that  she  is  soon  to  become  a 
mother?" 

Bertram  winced.     "Who  told  you  this?"  he  said. 

"  My  dear  man,  can  you  do  nothing  but  ask  ques- 
tions? I  suppose  I  heard  it  along  with  other  gossip. 
But  seriously,  I  cannot  afford  to  be  talked  about 
in  connection  with  you,  Mr.  Bertram." 

"You  have  suddenly  come  to  that  conclusion." 

"  Suddenly,  as  you  say.  But  go!  You  weary  me! 
You  men  are  all  alike!  Trying  to  be  Bohemian 
and  respectable  at  the    same  time,  you  get  into  a 


I 


i 


^ 


1  v 


126 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


false  position  and  grow  dull.  Now,  I  am  a  thor- 
ough Bohemian.  I  dislike  compromises.  Go  home 
to  your  little  wife  and  be  respectable!  By  all 
accounts  she  is  much  too  good  for  you.  If  you  let 
her  cry  her  eyes  out  over  your  neglect  I  will  find 
means  to  punish  you.  Adieu !  If  the  baby  is  a  girl 
you  may  name  her  after  me.  I  trust  it  will  be 
agreeable  to  your  wife.  Of  course  I  expect  now  to 
be  cut  dead.  Well,  well!  We  may  all  meet  in 
heaven,  you  know,"  and  Mrs.  Buckingham  bowed 
him  out. 


I:    I 


IH 


10  r- 

»me 

all 

let 

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be 

to 

in 

ed 


THE  REVEREND  WASHINGTON 
HAM'S  TRIUMPH. 


i 


I? 


f': 


THE   REVEREND  WASHINGTON 
HAM'S  TRIUMPH. 


i 


**  De  tnud-turtic  have  no  cauM  to  stick  tip  his  nose  nt  de  frog." 

— Nbgro  Provbrb. 


The  Reverend  Washington  Ham  was  a  colored 
Baptist  revivalist.  He  was  born  some  time  in  the 
"  thirties,"  at  the  Joggin,  some  two  or  three  miles 
from  the  town  of  Digby.  He  was  stout-built, 
bull-necked,  bossy-faced,  and  as  black  as  the  ace 
of  spades.  His  wool,  tightly  corkscrewed  to  his 
bullet  head,  was  at  the  period  of  this  story  already 
becoming  grizzled  by  advancing  age.  Uncorrupted 
by  the  schools,  the  Reverend  Washington  expounded 
the  Scriptures  with  most  literal  exactness,  .and  swore 
especially  by  the  Pentateuch  and  the  Song  of  Solo- 
mon. He  had  a  predilection  for  mixing  up  the 
Mosaic  record  with  his  favorite  doctrines  of  "  Pre- 
destination" and  "  Immersion"  in  a  way  extremely 
gratifying  to  his  congregations.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  draping  his  discourses  in  the  pictorial 
splendors  of  Revelation,  and  constructing  therefrom 

a  theology  as  unique  as  it  was  entertaining.     He 

129 


I30 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Tozvn. 


1 


i  I. 


was  accustomed  to  travel  from  one  end  of  the  prov- 
ince to  the  other,  tarrying  for  longer  or  shorter 
seasons  with  his  colored  brethren  of  both  the  Baptist 
and  Methodist  persuasions,  at  Hammond's  Plains, 
Windsor  Forks,  the  Pine  Woods,  and  the  Joggin. 
He  was  a  powerful  exhorter — a  very  Boanerges — 
and  his  deep  bass  tones  could  be  heard  of  a  Sunday 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  his  ministra- 
tion. So  empaatically  did  he  thump  the  pulpit 
Bibles  that  in  one  or  two  visitations  they  became 
pitiful  wrecks,  and  their  places  had  to  be  supplied 
by  new  ones.  It  therefore  became  the  custom,  when- 
ever the  fervent  revivalist  appeared,  to  put  an  old 
book  before  him  in  place  of  the  new  and  let  the 
Reverend  Washington  thump  it  to  his  heart's  content. 
He  was  very  popular  with  his  brother  clergymen, 
except  with  those  who  strongly  opposed  his  two  car- 
dinal doctrines  of  Predestination  and  Immersion. 
On  these  points  the  Reverend  Washington  was 
inexorable;  and  in  almost  all  cases  his  feelings  were 
considered,  and  he  was  allowed  to  speak  his  mind 
freely  without  open  opposition. 

There  was  one  pastor,  however,  who,  by  the 
importance  of  his  position,  once  ventured  boldly 
to  oppose  the  favorite  doctrines  of  the  revivalist. 
This  was  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones,  a  Metho- 
dist, who  presided  over  a  very  aristocratic  colored 


The  Rev,  Washington  Ham  s  Triumph.     131 


church  in  Richmond  Street,  Halifax.  The  Rever- 
end Persimmons  had  been  to  an  academy,  and  there- 
fore looked  down  with  lofty  disdain  on  the  learning 
of  the  Reverend  Washington  Ham.  But  however 
much  he  despised  the  lack  of  erudition  of  his  Baptist 
brother,  the  Reverend  Persimmons  was  obliged  to 
yield  to  the  voice  of  his  congregation,  who  clamored 
for  a  visit  from  the  noted  revivalist.  The  invita- 
tion was  at  last  given,  and  the  Reverend  Washing- 
ton promptly  responded.  He  ascended  the  pulpit  of 
the  Richmond  Street  Church  with  a  feeling  of  pride 
in  his  prophetic  function,  which  was  not  lessened 
when  he  saw  the  scowling  face  of  the  Reverend  Per- 
simmons Jones  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  front 
row  of  seats.  The  building  was  packed,  and  ex- 
pectation was  on  tip-toe.  The  revivalist,  in  a  de- 
liberate tone,  skirmished  awhile  with  the  Book 
of  Genesis,  rapidly  passed  on  to  Exodus,  dwelt  at 
some  length  on  Leviticus,  next  made  a  plunge  into 
the  sensuous  imagery  of  the  Song  of  Solomon,  and 
then  began  to  enlarge  on  his  two  favorite  doctrines. 
"  I's  come  here  to  ax  yuh,"  said  the  Reverend 
Washington,  letting  his  eye  glance  across  the  scalp 
of  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones,  "  what  de  Script- 
ures means  when  dey  says  dat  two  wimmin  will  be 
grindin'  at  demill  an*  one'U  be  tucken  an'  de  udder 
left?     Dat  pints  to  de  great  doctrin*  uv  Predestina- 


132 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


I  i«! 


tion.  Der  ain't  no  gittin'  aroun'  a  cornder  'bout 
dati  We's  predessined — some  to  be  saints  an'  some 
to  be  sinnahs,  just  like  one  yearo'  corn  is  to  be  full 
an'  anudder  all  shrivelled  an'  mildewed,  or  one 
calf  a  poor  shoat  an'  anudder  de  makin'  uv  a 
X  skrumptious  cattle.  Yuse  got  to  b'lieve;  an'  when 
de  Lawd  comes  yer  way,  if  yuse  got  de  right  bran' 
on  yuh  he's  goin*  to  take  yuh,  anyway.  Yo  needn't 
hab  no  fear  uv  dat!  Yo  may  a  bin  ez  wicked  as 
ole  Harry  hisself  all  yer  life,  but  if  yo  repents 
yuh's  all  right.  De  Lawd  ain't  takin'  no  notice  uv 
afterclaps  what's  gone  afore;  all  he's  lookin'  arter 
iz  what  yo  are  now.  An'  I  tells  yuh,  yuh's  predes- 
sined to  repent  like  yuh  wor  befoh  to  sin,  an'  dat's 
cle  reason  why  de  Lawd's  got  some  'scuse  foh  takin' 
yuh.     Iz  dat  cleah  in  yuh  minds,  breverin?" 

Many  of  the  brethren  nodded  emphatic  assent, 
but  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones  knitted  his 
brows  and  moved  uneasily  on  his  seat.  The  orator 
again  took  up  the  thread  of  his  discourse. 

"  De  great  doctrin*  uv  Predestination  bein'  set- 
tled, let  us  take  a  squint  at  de  nex'  great  pint  in  de 
scheme  uv  salvation.  Yuse  repented,  but  how's 
yuh  goin'  to  get  de  papahs  as  shows  yuh  repentance 
iz  done  accordin'  to  order?  Bv  Baptizzum!  But 
what  kin'  uv  baptizztiinl  Yuse  got  yuh  papahs,  but 
how's  yuh  goin'  to  show  yuh  papahs  is  in  ordeh  ? 


The  Rev,  Washington  Hani  s  Triumph.     133 


'■ 


's 
fe 
It 
It 
? 


Dat's  de  pint  I'm  axin'  uv  yuh!  What's  de  kin* 
iiv  baptizzum  yuse  a-goin'  foh?  Breverin,  dere's 
only  one  kin'  uv  baptizzum  dat's  wuth  shucks. 
Dere's  only  one  kin'  uv  baptizzum  dat'll  give  yuh 
clean  papahs  foh  de  skies;  an'  dat  kin'  uv  baptizzum 
am  Immershun!" 

At  these  words  there  was  quite  a  sensation  in  the 
meeting,  for  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones  had 
been  inculcating  an  entirely  opposite  doctrine. 
There  was  a  craning  of  necks  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  pastor,  and  a  whispering  and  nodding  all 
over  the  congregation.  The  Reverend  Washington 
cleared  his  throat  and  proceeded: 

"I's  prepared  to  back  up  de  doctrin'  uv  Immer- 
shun by  superstanshul  Scriptur'  prufhs.  What  foh 
why  wuz  Jonah  frew  inter  de  sea  an'  de  whale  swal- 
lered  him,  if  it  wa'ant  to  pint  de  argermint  uv  Im- 
mershun? If  de  Lawd  wanted  Jonah  sprinkled, 
wouldn't  he  a-sent  de  spray  a-flyin'  all  ober  de  wes- 
sel  ?  Cose  he  would!  De  Lawd  don't  take  no 
trouble  foh  nuffin.  An'  how  much  watah  do  yuh 
s'pose  de  whale  swallered  alongside  Jonah?  Hogs- 
heads an'  hogsheads!  An'  Jonah  swum  around  dere 
in  de  whale's  belly  tree  days  an'  tree  nights,  an' 
got  baptized  all  troo,  an'  den  he  war  fit  to  go  to 
Ninevar.  An'  den  didn't  de  prorfit  tell  dat  Sy-re-an 
captain  to  have  sebben  times  in  Johdan  ?     What  wuz 


SI 

ill 


\ 


inr 


I  iri  -< 


!•■ 


i 


H 


'ft 

Br 


I 


. 


134 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison  Toivn. 


dat  foh  ?  It  wuz  to  hyperbolicalize  de  great  doctrin' 
uv  Immershun.  De  feller  wuz  all  pock-marked  wid 
lepersy,  which  in  youh  case,  my  breverin,  signifi- 
cations sin.  Dere  yuse  got  it  in  black  an'  white. 
But  I's  gwine  to  gib  yuh  stronger  prufhs  dan  dat. 
Yuse  all  learned  to  line  out  dese  yere  verses  taken 

frum  de  Sams  uv  de  bressed  Apos'le  Daniel: 

• 

"  '  Der  iz  a  fountain  filled  wid  blood 
Drawn  frum  Immanuel's  veins. 
An'  sinnahs  plunged  bcncaf  dut  flood 
Loose  all  der  guilty  stains.' 

"What  does  dat  signify?  De  great  doctrin'  uv 
Immershun!" 

But  here  the  orator  was  suddenly  interrupted. 
The  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones  had  been  seething 
with  indignation  and  fierce  mental  protest  while 
these  extremely  subversive  doctrines  were  being  ex- 
pounded from  his  own  pulpit  to  his  chosen  flock. 
At  this  part  of  the  address  he  had  reached  the  ex- 
ploding point,  and  professional  courtesy  could  no 
longer  hold  sway  over  his  feelings.  He  snorted 
with  indignation,  started  excitedly  to  his  feet  and 
faced  his  people,  who  sat  open-mouthed,  drinking 
in  the  words  of  the  Reverend  Washington  Ham. 

"  I  denounces  sich  doctrin' !"  he  called  out. 
"  It's  a  subvertin'  uv  de  faith  uv  dis  yere  church.  I 
calls  upon  de  Reverind  Washington  Ham  to  waycate 
de  pulpit  uv  dis  church!     De  Reverind  Washington 


The  Rev,  Washington  Ham' s  Triumph.     13$ 

Ham  quotes deScriptur',  but  what  does  hisScriptur' 
'mount  to?  It's  no  more  applipliable  dan  haulin' 
mud  to  men'  a  road!  I  kin  quote  Scriptur'  dead 
agin  him.     What  does  dis  mean  ? 

"  '  Wash  me  an'  I  will  be  whiter  dan  snow.' 


"  De  Reverind  Washington  Ham  would  say  it 
meaned  Immershun!  All  humbug!  It  don't  mean 
nuffin  uv  de  kin' !  Do  yuh  s'pose  we  cullud  pussons 
is  a-goin'  to  be  washed  ivhitc?  No,  sah!  De  cullud 
pussons  is  goin'  to  be  cullud  pussons  in  heaven  as 
well's  here.  How  do  yuh  s'pose  yurd  know  yuh 
friens  if  it  twarn't  so?  No,  my  breverin,  don't  run 
away  wid  sich  foolish  notions  as  dese  uv  de  Rever- 
ind Washington  Ham's!  How  wuz  it  dey  honorized 
folks  in  de  Chillun  uv  Isrul's  day  ?  Why,  dey  poured 
ile  on  der  heads!  But  ile's  mighty  expensive  wid 
us,  an*  so  we  chooses  water.  We  jus'  drops  water 
nuff  to  keep  from  wettin'  de  close,  an'  dere  yu  have 
yuh  baptizzum!  Reverind  Washington  Ham,  come 
down  out  uv  dat  yer  pulpit,  an'  don't  be  preachin* 
Anti-Christ  to  dis  yere  Richmond  Street  Church!" 

But  the  famous  revivalist  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
silenced.  His  heavy  bass  voice  rang  out  and  over- 
whelmed the  penny-trumpet  tones  of  his  rival,  and 
it   was   clear   that    he    had    the    majority  of  those 

present  with  him.      He  reaffirmed  his  cardinal  doc- 
9 


i 

? 

i"  ■ 


li 


136 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


trine  with  immense  emphasis,  till  the  leaves  of  the 
pulpit  Bible  flew  broadcast  over  the  congregation. 
His  fervent  and  sonorous  oratory  completely 
drowned  the  protesting  voice  of  the  Reverend  Per- 
simmons Jones.  He  ended  in  a  triumphant  perora- 
tion that  shook  the  house,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
Apposing  clergyman  staV^  '!  out  of  the  building, 
followed  by  a  faithful  few.  Like  a  prudent  general, 
the  Reverend  Washington  pursued  his  advantage  and 
grasped  at  the  fruits  of  victory.  He  saw  the  heads 
of  the  congregation  wavri  to  and  fro  and  bow 
before  the  blast  of  his  oratory  i.x  ripened  wheat 
before  a  northwest  wind.  He  kne.v  '^y  long  ex- 
perience that  the  flood-gates  ci  a  ic  '^'il  were 
opened,  and  he  rushed  triumphantly  into  the  dazzling 
mysteries  of  Revelation.  He  piled  metaphor  on 
hyperbole  and  hyperbole  on  metaphor,  and  then 
toppled  the  gorgeous  structure  upon  the  heads  of 
the  congregation.  The  effect  upon  his  audience 
was  indescribable.  Some  started  to  their  feet,  their 
eyes  rolling  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  spun  round  in  the 
aisles,  and  fell  fainting  on  the  floor;  others  clapped 
their  hands  in  ecstatic  fervor,  wagging  their  heads 
from  side  to  side,  and  shouting  "Glory!"  "  Hal- 
leujah!"  "Amen!"  "  Bress  de  Lawd!"  and  other  ex- 
clamations of  religious  joy.  Through  and  above  all 
this  grotesque  confusion  the  bass  voice  of  the  Rev- 


si;,:,; 


The  Rev.  Washington  Hain  s  Triumph.     137 


,11 


erend  Washington  Ham  thundered  and  bellowed  like 
the  last  great  trump  of  the  Apocalypse  itself.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  stopped  and  stretched  out  his  arms  at 
full  length,  and  silence  gradually  settled  upon  the 
congregation. 

"I  calls  on  all  who  wishes  to  be  saved  accordin' 
to  de  principles  uv  Baptizzum  and  Predestination 
to  hoi'  up  deir  ban's!"  An  almost  universal  show- 
ing of  hands  followed.  "Now,  who's  willin'  to  be 
baptized  accordin'  to  de  'bove  formerluh?"  A 
goodly  number  responded.  "Well,  breverin,  I 
fin*  yuh  here  like  as  sheep  as  hasn't  got  no  shep- 
herd, an'  my  heart  trabbels  over  yuh  in  fear  an* 
sufferin*.  I's  willin'  to  stay  an'  see  yuse  out  uv 
dis  yere  fix.  I's  gwine  to  hoi'  a  baptizzum  down 
on  de  shoh  nex'  Toosday,  an'  all  uv  yuse  as  wants 
to  be  baptized  in  de  true  way  will  meet  me  here  at 
two  o'clock  in  de  arternoon,  to  jine  in  a  perses- 
sional."  Then  the  Reverend  Washington  Ham 
came  down  from  the  pulpit  and  received  the  con- 
gratulations of  his  friends. 

The  eventful  Tuesday  came,  and  a  large  concourse 
of  the  colored  brethren  made  their  way  to  the  shore. 
At  the  head  of  his  contingent,  surrounded  by  his 
candidates  for  baptism,  majestically  marched  the 
Reverend  Washington  Ham,  Bible  in  hand.  At. 
least  two-thirds  of  the   church-members   followed 


I' 


W^^ 


138 


Ta/cs  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


him,  and  like  Joshua  of  old  the  heart  of  the  great 
revivalist  was  mightily  lifted  up  as  he  led  with  a 
stentorian  voice  the  singing  of  this  revival  hymn — 

"  De  l^wd  is  a-comin'  to  take  yuh  home : 

Oil,  come  I^wd  soon  ! 
Where  yuse  got  no  chance  no  more  to  roam : 

Oh,  come  Lawd  soon  ! 
Wid  his  spankin'  hosses  an'  chariot  o'  fire, 
A-comin'  in  his  mussy  an'  a-comin'  in  his  ire, 
An'  he'll  whip  de  wicked  darkeys  wid  de  scorpion  an'  de  brier : 

Oh,  come  Lawd  soon  ! 

"  De  lion  an'  de  unicorn  day's  lyin'  wid  de  lamb  : 

Oh,  come  Lawd  soon  ! 
We's  gwine  wid  de  Rcverind  Washington  Ham  : 

Oh,  come  Lawd  soon  ! 
We's  gwine  to  get  our  papahs  foh  de  skies, 
On  de  wings  uv  salvation  to  wobble  an'  to  rise 
An'  to  wash  away  de  teahs  from  our  black  an'  sinful  eyes : 

Oh,  come  I^wd  soon  !" 

— which  his  enthusiastic  followers  accompanied  with 
a  vigorous  clapping  of  hands  and  wagging  of  heads 
and  an  ecstatic  rolling  of  eyes  as  the  strains  rose 
and  fell.  But  just  as  they  reached  the  little  cove 
where  the  baptism  was  to  take  place,  another  party, 
led  by  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones,  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  All  silently  they  filed  down  to  the 
shore  to  watch  the  proceedings  of  the  rival  band. 
Many  fierce  looks  were  exchanged  between  the 
opposing  factions,  but  no  overt  act  of  hostility 
was  attempted.  The  party  of  the  Reverend  Per- 
simmons seemed  to  be  in  an  expectant  mood,  as 
though  looking  for  something  unusual  to  happen. 


The  Rev,  Washington  Ham  s  Triumph.     139 

Into  the  water  marched  the  Reverend  Washington 
Ham,  his  black  bombazine  robe  floating  proudly 
around  him,  while  after  him  followed  the  candidates 
for  baptism.  One  by  one  they  were  dipped  under 
by  the  powerful  arm  of  the  revivalist,  and  as  each 
came  out  dripping  and  sputtering,  the  little  army 
of  enthusiasts  broke  forth  in  a  hymn  which  owed  its 
inspirational  fervor  to  the  gifted  Washington  him- 
self: 

"  Vuh's  candy-tlatcs  fur  dc  udder  wfirl' ; 

Hrcddcrin,  bress  dc  I^iwd  ! 
De  man  an'  dc  missus,  dc  boy  an'  dc  girl : 

Hrcddcrin,  bress  dc  Lawd  ! 
On  Johdan's  banks  yuh've  tooiccn  yuh  stan', 
An'  yuh's  waitin'  fcr  dc  ferry  to  dc  udder  Ian': 
Oh,  come,  my  brudder,  give  us  yuh  han' : 

Hrcddcrin,  bress  dc  I^wd  ! 

*'  Olc  Moses  he  trabbel  a  lonesome  way  : 

Hrcddcrin,  bress  de  I^iwd  ! 
De  chillun  uv  Isrul  dey  go  astray  ; 

Hrcddcrin,  bress  de  I^wd  ! 
Dey's  got  no  use  fer  mistakes  in  hebben, 
Hut  dey'll  let  ye  in  if  de  hour's  elebbcn 
Out  of  dc  furniss  bake  sebbcn  times  scbben : 

Bredderin,  bress  de  Lawd  !  " 


M 


;r- 


as 
in. 


The  concluding  notes  of  the  hymn  had  died 
away,  and  up  to  this  time  the  party  of  the  Reverend 
i'ersimmons  Jones  had  not  moved  nor  said  a  word. 
The  last  candidate  had  been  dipped,  and  the  bap- 
tizer  himself  had  come  out  of  the  water  and  was 
standing  with  his  drenched  devotees  under  the  wall 
of   a  large  untenanted  house   which  stood  near  the 


Itr ;   I 


» ; 


1 1,. 


1: 


140 


TaUs  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


water's  edge,  when  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones 
stepped  out  from  among  his  followers  and  said  to 
the  other  party: 

"  I  s'pose  yuh's  in  de  odor  uv  sanctity  now, 
breverin?  But  de  true  baptizzum  is  still  waitin' 
foh  yuh.  Yuse  got  now  to  get  dem  clean  papahs 
fer  de  skies  dat  de  Reverind  Washington  Ham  talks 
about." 

The  words  were  no  sooner  said  than  from  a  frame- 
less  window  of  the  old  house  the  contents  of  a  bag 
of  flour  were  dexterously  sifted  upon  the  heads  of 
the  Reverend  Washington  Ham  and  his  newly-bap- 
tized converts.  A  yell  of  triumph  arose  from  the 
party  of  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones,  and  a 
howl  of  rage  from  the  party  of  the  Reverend  Wash- 
ing-ton Ham.  A  rush  into  the  building  was  made 
to  L'jize  the  perpetrator  of  this  effective  practical 
joke,  but  whoever  he  was  he  had  prudently  decamped 
in  time.  Meanwhile,  the  baptized  brethren  were 
grotesque  objects,  for  the  flour  had  turned  to  dough 
and  stuck  like  wax  to  their  wool,  faces,  and  gar- 
ments. A  scramble  was  made  for  the  water,  and 
a  tremendous  Clawing  and  scrubbing  took  place, 
acompanied  by  the  taunts  and  revilings  of  the  rival 
faction,  who  wisely  kept  at  a  distance.  But  the  Rev- 
erend Washington  Ham  was  too  dignified  to  cleanse 
himself   in  the  presence  of  his  enemies.     He  said 


Id 


The  Rev.  Washington  Hani  s  Triumph.     141 

majestically:  "  Breverin,  I's  not  goin'  to  scratch 
one  gob  uv  dis  yere  flour  offen.  me  till  I  gets  back 
to  de  church.  I's  goin'  to  show  de  Reverind  Per- 
simmons Jones  dat  I  ain't  afeard  to  suffah  foh  de 
Gospel."  So,  besmeared  as  he  was,  he  took  up  his 
position  again  at  the  head  of  his  party  and  pro- 
ceeded back  to  the  church,  leading  his  followers  in 
the  hymn — 

"  O  children,  ain't  ye  glad 
You've  left  that  sinful  army? 
O  children,  ain't  ye  glad 
The  sea  gave  away? 
When  Muses  smote  the  water, 
The  children  all  passed  over; 
When  Moses  smote  the  water. 
The  sea  gave  away." 

— while  behind  came  a  chorus  of  voices  of  the  oppo- 
site party,  led  by  the  Reverend  Persimmons  Jones, 
singing  these  significant  lines: 

"  See  the  hosts  of  sin  advancing, 
Satan  leading  on  !  " 

In  appearance,  the  Reverend  Washington  might 
indeed  have  stood  for  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  if 
hideousness  is  an  attribute  of  his  Satanic  Majesty. 
The  flour,  turned  to  dough,  had  dried  on  his  face 
and  in  his  wool  and  had  run  down  in  streaks  over 
his  bombazine  robe.  The  blackness  of  his  skin 
stt  these  patches  of  dirty-white  in  glaring  contrast, 
gnd  nev^r  did  a  more  frightful-looking  being  parade 


142 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Toivn, 


\\ 


f » 


'  r 


If;  '. 


l1'  i 


I; 


the  Halifax  streets.  Amid  a  hootinji;  crowd  the 
Reverend  Washington  Ham  elbowed  his  way  back 
to  the  Richmond  Street  ('hurch,  the  whole  congre- 
gation following  him — the  party  of  the  Reverend 
Persimmons  Jones  bringing  up  the  rear. 

"  Yuh  sees  me  here,  Reverind  Persimmons  Jones," 
he  said,  after  he  had  ascended  the  pulpit  and  order 
had  been  restored,  "  the  wictim  uv  an'  ondecent 
assault;  an'  you  wuz  de  fabricator  uv  it.  But  I 
forgives  yuh!  Take  back  yuh  congregation  an' 
preach  de  true  doctrin' uv  Predestination  an' Immer- 
shun!  If  yuh  don't,  dese  yere  lob'  sheep'll  rise  up 
'ginst  yuh  on  de  Day  uv  Judgmen',  as  de  chillun 
uv  Isrul  did  'ginst  Sodom  an'  Clormorrer.  Brev- 
erin,  I  gives  yuh  my  blessin'  an'  departs  in  de  Name 
uv  de  I.awd,"  and  the  revivalist  stepped  down  and 
vanished  into  the  vestry.  He  was  discovered  an 
hour  later  by  the  Reverend  Persmmions  Jones,  with 
his  head  in  the  vestry-basin,  still  engaged  in  digging 
the  dough  out  of  his  wool. 

*' Foh  de  Lawd's  sake!"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
Persimmons  Jones. 

"Yes,  brudder,"  replied  the  Reverend  Washing- 
ton, lifting  his  streaming  face  from  the  basin  and 
complacently  regarding  the  pastor,  "  foh  de  Lawd's 
sake!" 


"  '  Foh  de  Lawd's  sake  !'  exclaimed   the  astonished  Persimmons 
Jones." 


;     i 


COURT-MARTIALLED. 


; 

ill 


COURT-MARTIALLED. 


'•  His  honor  rooted  in  dishonor  stood." — Tennyson. 


"  Sergeant  O'Neil  drunk  again,  sir!"  says  the 
Orderly,  touching  his  cap  to  Colonel  Knevet,  of  the 
Lincoln  Greys, 

The  Colonel  swore.  "  I  am  tired  of  this  sort  of 
thing,  Marcham,"  he  said  to  the  Adjutant,  who 
sat  writing  at  the  office  table;  "the  regiment  has 
been  disgraced  long  enough  by  O' Neil's  sprees. 
They  are  having  a  bad  influence,  too,  on  the  men.  No 
less  than  five  guard-room  cases  for  drunkenness  this 
week!  By  all  the  powers  of  war,  I'll  stop  it!  O'Neil 
has  been  a  good  soltlier  and  a  useful  man,  but  the 
devil  seems  to  have  got  into  him  lately.  You  had 
better  order  a  court-martial  for  ten  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.    O'Neil  is  under  arrest,  Kinsley?" 

"Yes,  sir,   in   the  guard-room,"  replied  Kinsley. 

"  Very  well ;  bring;  me  Captain  Jones'  report. 
We'll  have  to  make  an  example  of  O'Neil,  Mar- 
cham.    We  must  be  all  the  harder  on  him,  as  he  is  a 

favorite  with  the  men." 

H7 


i 


148 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


The  Colonel  paced  with  a  restless  step  up  and 
down  the  office  and  glanced  gloomily  out  of  the 
window  at  the  driving  rain,  for  the  day  was  cheer- 
less and  wet.  He  was  out  of  sorts,  and  the  state  of 
the  weather  did  not  improve  his  spirits.  Besides, 
he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian,  and  he  was  annoyed 
and  mortified  by  the  late  reports  of  drunkenness 
among  his  men.  The  Colonel  rarely  swore,  but 
when  he  did  it  was  a  sign  of  much  perturbation  of 
mind. 

Next  morning,  on  the  stroke  of  ten,  the  Adjutant, 
as  judge,  took  his  seat,  with  the  Colonel  and  Major 
on  one  side  of  him  and  three  captains  on  the  other. 
The  accused  Sergeant  was  marched  into  the  room, 
a  soldier  on  each  side  of  him  and  a  corporal  in  the 
rear.  There  was  little  formality  about  the  proceed- 
ings. The  Adjutant  read  to  the  prisoner  a  report 
containing  the  charge  of  drunkenness,  and  asked 
him  if  he  pleaded  guilty  or  not. 

"Guilty,"  said  the  offender  in  a  low  voice.  His 
eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  his  hang-dog  air  showed 
plainly  his  present  sense  of  shame,  as  well  as  his 
yesterday's  dissipation.  The  Adjutant  stood  up  to 
read  the  sentence. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say,  O'Neil,  why  sentence 
should  not  be  passed  upon  you?"  he  said.  "  If  you 
have,  it  shall  be  considered  by  the  court.     If  not. 


Coiirt-Martiallcd. 


149 


it   has  been   determined   to  make   an   example   of 
you." 

O'Neil,  a  grizzled  veteran,  looked  up  for  an 
instant  at  the  Colonel,  and  then  dropped  his  eyes. 
"Nothing,  sir,"  he  answered  dejectedly. 

The  Colonel  stood  up. 

"O'Neil,"  he  said  in  a  stern  voice,  "this  is  the 
eighth  time  this  year  you  have  been  in  the  guard- 
room on  account  of  drunkenness.  This  record  for 
an  officer  is  outrageous.  You  have  disgraced  Her 
Majesty's  service  in  general  and  your  own  regi- 
ment in  particular.  Have  you  anything  to  say  for 
yourself?" 

O'Neil's  lips  moved,  but  the  words  were  inaudible. 

"Very  well.  Adjutant,  pronounce  sentence,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

The  Adjutant  addressed  O'Neil  in  a  calm,  formal 
tone:  "It  is  the  judgment  of  the  court  that  you  be 
degraded  to  the  ranks  in  the  presence  of  the  regi- 
ment, which  will  involve  the  tearing  of  your  ser- 
geant's stripes  from  your  uniform  at  this  afternoon's 
parade.  Your  own  captain  concurs  in  the  sentence, 
and  it  is  approved  unanimously  by  the  court." 

"Oh,  God,  sir!"  replied  O'Neil,  in  a  heartrending 
voice,  as  the  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes,  "can't  it 
be  done  in  private?  Four-and-twenty  years  have  I 
served  under  the  colors,  and  twenty  of  'em  with  the 


f. 


f:    I 


■  ;i^- ' 


,1  1 


150 


Ta/cs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


Greys.  It'll  break  my  heart,  sir,  to  be  disgraced 
afore  the  rigimint!  I'd  rather  that  you'd  shoot  me 
out  an'  out.  I  haven't  a  word  to  say  agin  the  justice 
av  the  coort.  It  knows  best,  but  the  divil'll  git  me 
if  I  lose  the  respect  av  the  boys." 

The  poor  fellow's  lip  trembled,  and  he  wiped  his 
face  with  the  cuff  of  his  tarnished  uniform. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  O'Neil,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"but  the  judgment  is  irrevocable.  Discipline  in 
the  regiment  must  be  maintained.  Had  you  been 
of  lower  rank,  yc  .r  sentence  might  have  been 
lighter;  but  I  ca»  have  no  soldier  of  the  rank  of 
sergeant  continually  getting  drunk.  Corporal,  re- 
move the  prisone  !" 

O'Neil  was  m  irched  out,  looking  as  th  igh  he 
were  being  led  to  instant  execution.  The  officers  in 
the  little  court-rjom  looked  grave.  The  Sergeant's 
appeal  was  or  j  which  touched  their  hearts  as  sol- 
diers, and  they  felt  deeply  sorry  for  him,  but  they 
had  all  concurred  in  the  sentence.  Discipline  must 
be  maintained.  The  regiment  was  assembled  for 
the  Colonel's  parade,  and  the  afternoon  had  cleared 
off  fair.  There  was  an  expectant,  awed  look  on  the 
faces  of  the  men.  The  Colonel's  critical  eye 
glanced  over  the  regiment.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
Orderly. 


Court' Martiallcd. 


151 


t( 


Kinsley,"    he    said,     "order    Sergeant    O'Neil 
present  under  guard!" 

In  a  few  minutes  O'Neil,  white  as  a  sheet  and 
with  his  head  bowed,  was  placed  facing  the  regi- 
ment. The  Colonel  gave  a  sign  with  his  hand,  and 
two  sergeants  stepped  from  the  ranks  and  stood 
beside  their  comrade.  With  faces  that  looked  as 
if  they  did  not  relish  their  employment,  they  slowly 
tore  the  straps  ftom  the  sleeves  of  O' Neil's 
uniform.  The  disgraced  soldier  did  not  look  up, 
even  when  a  rifie  was  thrust  into  his  hands,  but 
silently  took  his  place  in  the  ranks.  The  impres- 
sive hush  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  Colonel's 
ordering  an  evolution.  Then  he  gave  a  few  more 
rapid  commands  and  the  parade  closed.  O'Neil 
avoided  his  comrades  and  slunk  off  to  his  quarters. 
He  sat  there  with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands,  his 
soul  filled  with  bitter  despair.  That  night  he  could 
not  sleep;  the  scene  of  his  disgrace  was  ever  presen*: 
with  him,  and  he  tossed  restlessly  to  and  fro.  He 
arose  in  the  morning,  pale  and  hnggard,  and  could 
eat  no  breakfast.  He  was  put  on  the  early  guard, 
and  paced  the  ramparts  all  the  forenoon.  He  had 
but  one  thought — to  end  his  misery.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  to  carry  his  head  erect  and  march  up 
and  down  his  beat.     He  fancied  that  he  was  a  mark 


f 


1,1 


•■.■ 


ii 


il 
I 


I 


152 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


for  all  eyes,  and  if  any  one  came  near  him  his  face 
flushed  and  a  spasm  of  shame  went  through  him. 
As  soon  as  he  was  off  duty  he  made  his  way  through 
town,  and  went  out  upon  a  wharf  near  the  Dart- 
mouth Ferry,  He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
wharf,  with  his  legs  hanging  over  the  water.  He 
put  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  propped  his  head 
with  his  hands.  His  cap  fell  off  and  floated  away, 
but  he  never  noticed  the  loss.  The  low,  monotonous 
lap  of  the  tide  against  the  timbers  mingled  with  the 
melancholy  brooding  of  his  thought.  He  was  in 
that  dreamy,  half-unconscious  state  which  often 
comes  upon  intending  suicides  immediately  before 
taking  the  fatal  step.  He  may  have  sat  there  half 
an  hour,  but  it  seemed  to  him  an  eternity.  Finally 
he  raised  his  bleared  eyes  and  took  one  last  look 
around.  The  ferry-boat  was  at  that  minute  leaving 
for  Dartmouth,  and  he  saw  the  Colonel's  little 
daughter  running  about  the  after-deck,  while  her 
nurse  sat  on  a  bench  near  the  passageway.  No  one 
else  was  in  sight,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  take  his 
plunge  without  being  noticed.  To  die  decently  and 
quietly  was  now  his  only  wish.  He  threw  his  arms 
out  and  bent  forward,  when  a  shrill  cry  startled  him. 
He  looked  up  and  saw  the  nurse-maid  run  shrieking 
to  the  side  of  the  boat.  The  little  girl  had  gone 
too  near  the  edge  and  had  tripped  and  fallen  into 


Court' Martialhd. 


153 


the  water.  A  number  of  passengers  and  deck-hands 
rushed  aft  in  time  to  see  the  form  of  a  man  plunge 
from  an  adjacent  wharf  and  swim  with  powerful 
strokes  toward  the  drowning  child.  A  cry  went  up, 
and  the  boat's  engines  were  reversed.  The  man, 
who  wore  a  soldier's  uniform,  was  just  in  time  for 
the  rescue.  The  child  was  going  down  when  he 
grasped  her  long,  floating  hair  and  lifted  her  swoon- 
ing figure  out  of  the  waves.  He  battled  strenuously 
with  his  other  arm,  and  his  strength  was  almost 
gone,  when  a  life-preserver  thrown  from  the  boat 
fell  close  beside  him.  In  a  few  minutes  more  he 
was  lifted  with  his  apparently  lifeless  burden  into 
the  ferry-boat,  amid  the  cheers  of  -the  passengers. 
The  boat  put  back  to  the  wharf,  and  by  vigorous 
and  timely  exertions  the  child  was  brought  to  con- 
sciousness, and  was  then  rapidly  driven  to  the 
Colonel's  house.  Inquiry  was  made  for  the  soldier, 
but  in  the  confusion  of  the  arrival  at  the  wharf  he 
had  disappeared.  Who  could  it  have  been?  The 
overjoyed  and  thankful  Colonel  asked  if  the  man 
had  given  his  name,  but  found  merely  that  he  was 
a  private  soldier.  Whoever  he  was,  he  had  gone  off 
so  quietly  that  no  one  had  had  a  chance  to  ask  his 
name. 

"  I'll  put  him  in  O'Neil's  place  when  I  find  him!" 

cried  the  Colonel.     "A  fellow  as  brave  and  modest 
10 


Iliij 


I 


ll 


154 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


as  that  deserves  some  substantial  recognition.  It 
isn't  usual  for  a  private  to  neglect  such  a  good 
opportunity  to  stand  well  in  the  regiment.  And, 
by  Jove!  I'll  give  the  fellow,  when  I  find  him,  a 
hundred  pounds,  too,  out  of  my  own  private  purse!"  I 

He  then  turned  to  fondle  his  little  daughter, 
while  his  wife  hysterically  laughed  and  cried  by 
turns. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Orderly  brought  in  a 
military  cap  soaked  with  salt  water.  "A  boatman 
left  this  at  the  office,  sir,"  he  said.  "  It  may  belong 
to  the  man  who  rescued  Miss  Dorothy." 

The  Colonel  eagerly  seized  and  examined  it. 
"What  is  that  written  on  the  band,  Kinsley?"  he 
said;  "the  water  has  half  obliterated  the  words." 

Kinsley  took  the  cap  and  went  to  the  window. 
"The  name  of  Sergeant  O'Neil,  sir,"  he  answered, 
handing  the  cap  back  to  the  Colonel. 

"  By  George,  it  must  have  been  O'Neil !  It's  just 
such  a  thing  as  the  fellow  would  do!  Send  for  the 
man,  Kinsley.  No,  let  it  be  till  the  morning 
parade."  The  Colonel  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  excitedly.  "As  gallant  a  fellow  as  ever  put 
on  a  uniform!  This  is  returning  good  for  evil  quite 
in  the  Scripture  way,"  he  said. 

The  next  morning  the  regiment,  as  usual,  was 
drawn  up  under  the  eye  of  the  Colonel.     He  was 


Court 'Martialled, 


155 


eagerly  scanning  the  ranks.  The  men  all  had  an 
expectant  look,  easily  detected  by  a  military  eye. 
P^ach  one  glanced  sideways  at  his  comrade,  curious 
to  see  if  he  was  to  be  the  recipient  of  a  reward;  for 
the  story  of  the  rescue  of  the  Colonel's  daughter 
by  some  unknown  private  had  got  abroad  among 
them. 

"'Tention!"  Every  eye  was  turned  upon  the 
Colonel. 

"Private  O'Neil,  Company  C,  step  out  of  the 
ranks!" 

Private  O'Neil  stepped  out  and  saluted. 

"Come  here,  sir!"  continued  the  Colonel  sternly. 
"  Does  this  cap  belong  to  you  ?" 

O'Neil  took  it,  looked  at  it,  and  handed  it  back 
with  a  bow. 

"How  did  you  lose  it?" 

"I  dropped  it  into  the  harbor,  sir." 

"  Where  were  you  when  you  lost  it  ?" 

"Sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  wharf,  sir." 

"What  were  you  doing  there?" 

The  answer  came  with  reluctance,  "  I  was  goin'  to 
drown  myself,  sir." 

"And  what  right,  sir,  has  one  of  Her  Majesty's 
soldiers  to  drown  himself?" 

The  private  did  not  answer. 

"O'Neil,"   said  the  Colonel,   bending  his    head 


156 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


I 


toward  the  man  and  looking  earnestly  into  his  eyes, 
"was  it  you  who  saved  my  little  girl's  life?" 

"  It  was  them  on  the  ferry-boat  as  saved  us 
both,  sir." 

"  I  see.     Private  O'Neil,  receive  this  from  me." 

The  Colonel  took  from  his  breast-pocket  a  small 
package  and  placed  it  in  O'Neil's  hands.  "In 
three  months'  time,  if  your  conduct  is  good,  you 
will  be  reinstated  in  your  old  rank.  To  a  brave 
man,  conspicuous  praise  for  such  a  deed  is  unneces- 
sary. I  will  not  offer  it  to  you  now.  Come  to 
my  house  this  evening  at  eight.  My  wife  and  little 
daughter  wish  to  see  you.  You  may  remain  acting 
sergeant,  and,  if  you  do  not  touch  liquor  in  the 
mean  while,  in  three  months  you  will  be  given  back 
your  stripes." 

"  I  will  never  drink  again,  sir,  as  long  as  I  live!" 
said  O'Neil,  in  a  husky  voice,  saluting  the  Colonel. 
Then,  with  head  erect  and  with  flashing  eye,  he 
turned  and  faced  the  regiment. 

The  Colonel's  firm,  deep  voice  rang  forth: 
"Greys,  salute  Sergeant  O'Neil  for  brave  and 
meritorious  conduct!" 

A  low  murmur  of  approval  rippled  through  the 
ranks  at  this  unwonted  honor  to  a  comrade,  and  the 
hand  of  every  officer  and  private  in  the  regiment 
was  raised  to  the  salute. 


IS 


11 
;n 

m 
re 

s- 
:o 
le 

S 
\e 


TOO    TRUTHFUL  SPIRITS. 


1. 
te 

i: 


It 


hi 


M,      'i 


M 


TOO    TRUTHFUL  SPIRITS. 


I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep."— Henky  IV. 


To  the  Halifax  Hotel  came  one  day  Professor 
Suckling  and  his  wife.  At  least  that  was  the 
record  they  left  scrawled  on  the  register,  which  is 
all  we  know  about  it.  The  Professor's  appearance 
belied  his  name,  for  he  looked  about  as  well- 
seasoned  as  smoke-dried  venison.  He  had  long, 
lank  hair,  lantern  jaws,  and  sleepy-looking  black 
eyes.  He  wore  a  threadbare  suit  of  black  and  had 
a  generally  unkempt  and  battered  air.  Even  his 
finger-nails  helped  on  his  dilapidated  and  funereal 
aspect.  His  wife,  as  fat  as  he  was  lean,  had 
puffy  eyes  and  a  gross,  sensual  mouth,  which  wore 
a  continual  smirk.  She  was  developed  like  a 
pouter-pigeon  and  walked  without  any  inflection  of 
the  body.  There  were  only  two  callings  in  which 
such  characters  could  have  been  engaged — quack 
medicine  and  spiritualism.  The  Professor  and  his 
wife  were  "mediums." 

They  hired  a  second-class  public  hall  and  began 

159 


i6o 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


m 


their  sdances.  These  were  rather  a  novelty  in 
the  town,  and  the  place  was  packed  nightly.  The 
spirits  conducted  themselves  in  the  most  approved 
manner,  and  the  gymnastics  done  upon  the  stage 
were  marvellous  and  inexplicable.  The  Professor 
would  be  bound  hand  and  foot  in  the  cabinet,  and 
the  usual  bell-ringing,  chair-thumping,  and  rope- 
flinging  would  instantly  follow,  when  the  medium 
would  be  discovered,  like  Samson,  free  of  his 
bonds.  The  spirits  of  any  one's  ancestors,  to  the 
third  or  fourth  generation,  would  promptly  respond 
to  invi;;ation,  as  if  they  had  all  along  been  waiting 
for  the  medium  to  come  and  give  them  a  holiday. 
They  showed  the  most  astonishing  familiarity  with 
the  personal  affairs  of  their  inquiring  relatives, 
which  posthumous  knowledge  plainly  indicated  that, 
like  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father,  they  had  been 
keeping  all  along  a  weather-eye  out  on  mundane 
affairs.  A  stream  of  gold  trickled  into  the  pockets 
of  the  cadaverous  Professor  and  his  pudgy  wife. 
What  was  still  more  alarming,  some  people  got  so  in- 
fatuated with  them  that  they  gave  up  church-going 
and  swore  by  the  gospel  of  the  spirits.  The  minis- 
ters took  up  arms  in  defence  of  their  flocks,  and 
loudly  denounced  Professor  Suckling  from  their 
pulpits;  but  the  fiercest  denunciations  came  from 
the  zealous  and  aggressive  Young  Men's  Christia^rx 


Too   Truthful  Spirits. 


i6i 


Association.  Its  members  prayed  and  exhorted 
against  the  new  doctrines,  which  were  leading  un- 
wary souls  so  far  astray;  they  gave  out  tracts  on  the 
street-corners  filled  with  warnings  in  the  tone  of 
Jeremiah;  and  at  last,  calling  a  meeting  to  consider 
the  situation,  they  appointed  a  committee  to  inves- 
tigate and  expose  these  artful  servants  of  Satan. 
At  the  head  of  the  committee  was  Deacon  Smythe, 
a  wholesale  provision  merchant,  a  great  local 
light,  and  a  pillar  of  the  association.  The  Deacon 
was  a  man  of  war,  and,  like  Paul,  had  often 
"fought  with  beasts  at  Ephesus. "  The  unsancti- 
fied,  however,  were  apt  to  laugh  at  the  Deacon's 
peculiar  business  methods,  which  someti.nes  required 
a  good  tug  at  the  mantle  of  charity  to  cover  them. 
But  Deacon  Smythe's  piety  was  of  that  sort  that 
does  not  find  shrewdness  in  business  inconsistent 
with  loudness  in  prayer.  In  short,  the  Deacon 
bargained  like  a  sinner  and  prayed  like  a  saint, 
keeping  always  a  self- satisfactory  debit  and  credit 
account  with  his  conscience. 

But,  unfortunately  for  the  good  brother,  in  the 
present  instance  he  had  a  business  enemy,  who  was 
somewhat  inclined  to  foregather  with  the  spirits. 
This  was  a  wholesale  grocer,  familiarly  known  as 
Tom  Pinckney — a  goc»d  deal  of  a  wag,  who  for  a 
long  time  had  bad  a  ijrudge  against  the  sharp  and 


1 62 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


sanctimonious  Smythe,  on  account  of  a  matter  of 
some  three  thousand  dollars,  which  amount  he 
claimed  the  Deacon  had  swindled  him  out  of  in  a 
certain  business  transaction.  Pinckney  got  wind 
of  the  anticipated  move  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  against 
the  mediums,  and  hearing  that  the  Deacon  was  at 
the  head  of  it,  quietly  dropped  round  to  the  hotel 
and  had  a  word  with  Suckling.  The  conversation 
was  an  interesting  and  important  one,  and  bore  fruit. 

On  the  night  appointed  for  the  investigation  the 
house  was  unu'^'illy  crowded,  for  an  inkling  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A. 's  design  had  got  abroad.  Exactly  at 
five  minutes  to  eight  o'clock,  in  walked  the  com- 
mittee to  the  body  of  the  hall.  They  took  their 
seats  in  the  very  front  row,  and  the  sdance  began. 
The  spirits,  under  Suckling's  supervision,  outdid 
themselves;  but  the  Professor's  sleepy  eyes  every 
now  and  then  wandered  to  the  front  row,  where  sat 
the  Deacon  and  his  watchful  friends.  The  "  mani- 
festations" continued  uninterruptedly  till  the  time 
for  "  materializing"  arrived.  Then  Suckling  stopped 
proceedings  for  a  minute  or  two  and  addressed  the 
audience. 

"  I  understand  through  the  spirits,"  ^^e  said,  "that 
there  is  in  the  house  a  committee  from  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  who  desire  to  investi- 
gate spiritualism.     If   this   committee  be  present, 


;r  of 

:    he 
in  a 

wind 

rainst 

/as  at 
hotel 

sation 

i  fruit. 

ion  the 

of  the 

ctly  at 

le  com- 

)k  their 
began, 
outdid 
every 
here  sat 
"  mani- 
he  time 
stopped 
ssed  the 

^d,  "  that 
^e  Young 
investi- 
present, 


**  On  the  background  of  the  stage,  a  single  figure,  dressed  in  an 
old-fashioned  frock-coat,  with  high  collar,  and  loosely- fitting  trousers, 
loomed  indistinctly  out  of  the  darkness." 


Too  Truthful  Spirits, 


165 


will  its  members  please  to  come  forward  and  take 
seats  on  the  platform  ?"  and  he  looked  directly  at 
the  Deacon  and  his  supporters. 

This  challenge  could  not  well  be  refused,  so  the 
committee  of  seven  rose  and  took  their  seats  in  a 
double  row  on  one  side  of  the  stage.  Then  the 
lights  were  turned  down. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Professor  Suckling  sol- 
emnly, "you  will  have  an  opportunity  of  testing  for 
yourselves  the  reality  and  efificacy  of  spirit  mani' 
festation.  Please  to  keep  perfectly  quiet  until  I 
give  the  word  to  speak.  The  unseen  powers  are 
jealous  of  their  prerogative  and  cannot  abide  dis- 
tracting noises," 

The  medium  now  began  to  stride  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  stage,  gesticulating  wildly,  at  the  same 
time  muttering  some  mysterious  words.  His  face 
was  turned  toward  the  back  of  the  stage,  and  he 
was  gazing  earnestly  into  the  dark  shadow.  Sud- 
denly he  threw  up  his  arms  and  stood  motionless, 
his  form  rigid  save  for  the  twitching  of  his  long, 
bony  fingers.  On  the  background  of  the  stage, 
opposite  where  the  committee  sat,  a  single  figure, 
dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  frock-coat,  with  high 
collar  and  loosely-fitting  trousers,  loomed  indis- 
tinctly out  of  the  darkness.  Around  it  was  a  wa- 
vering, bluish  shade,  which  seemed  as  if  it  might  be 


1 66 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


X. 

A 


the  atmosphere  of  Tartarus,  still  clinging  about  the 
paroled  spirit.  A  deep,  breathless,  expectant  hush 
rested  upon  the  spectators.  The  committee  could 
almost  hear  the  beating  of  each  other's  hearts  as 
the  spirit  slowly  moved  toward  them  across  the 
stage,  the  medium  facing  it  and  retreating  step  by 
step  as  it  advanced.  Suddenly  the  Professor  raised 
his  arm  authoritatively,  and  the  spirit  halted. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  medium  in  a  sepul- 
chral voice,  as  he  stepped  to  one  side,  "the  spirit 
is  willing  to  answer  any  questions  you  may  have  to 
ask." 

The  Deacon  cleared  his  throat.  "Well,  who  are 
yoiiV  he  said,  throwing  an  incredulous  tone  into 
his  words. 

The  spirit  answered  in  a  slow,  sepulchral  voice, 
looking  all  the  while  fixedly  at  Smythe: 

"After  all  the  years  we  spent  together  in  the 
same  office,  Ebenezer,  do  you  not  know  me?" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  the  Deacon,  with  growing 
agitation;  for  he  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of 
James  Broderick,  his  late  partner. 

"  Ebenezer,"  said  the  spirit,  stretching  out  a  long 
arm  and  pointing  its  finger  at  the  Deacon,  "  I  have 
come  to  warn  you  of  the  error  of  your  ways.  You 
are  all  too  sharp  a  bargainer  to  make  proper  terms 
with  heaven.       How   could  you,   Ebenezer,   cheat 


Too   Truthful  Spirits. 


167 


that  poor  Annapolis  farmer  out  of  a  good  price  for 

his  apples?     How  could  you  open  the  barrels  and 

put  hand-picked  fruit  on  top  of  windfalls,  and  sell 

them  as  number  ones?     How  could  you  say  to  that 

man   from   King's  County   that  his   potatoes   were 

frozen,  when  you  knew  they  weren't,  and  then  beat 

him  down  to  half-price?     How  could  you  sell  that 

carload  of  musty  hay,  which  you  got  for  a  song,  to 

your  friend  William   Price  for  six  times  its  value? 

Do   you    remember    the    Digby    chickens    and    the 

Yarmouth  bloaters  which  you  shipped  to  Boston  as 

fresh   and  good,  when  you  knew  they  were   as  dry 

and    hard    as   flint?     How    was    it   about   that  one 

thousand  dozen  of  eggs  you   sent   to   New   York  ? 

They    were     stale,    Ebenezer — very    stale!      They 

provoked  more  profanity  than  your  prayers  will  ever 

atone  for.     Call  to  mind  the  Spring  Hill  coal  you 

sold  to  Tom  Pinckney  and  swore  it  was  Old  Mines 

Sydney,   and  the  generously-sanded  sugar  you  sold 

him   afterward.      Ebenezer — you,   a   vice-president 

of  the  Young  Men's  Christian   Association;  you,  a 

deacon  of  the  Hancock  Street  Presbyterian  Church, 

guilty  of  such  acts!     When  I  was  alive,  Ebenezer, 

such    things    never    happened.       Deacon,    I   was  a 

restraint  upon  you!" 

At  these  words  of  the  ghost  a  very  audible  smile 

went  over  the  audience;  for  James  Broderick,  though 
II 


m 


\. '  ■) 


'  I 


m- 


mt 

^f' 


^ 


i68 


Tn/es  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


his  spirit  showed  such  a  laudable  moral  sense,  had 
been  known  in  life  to  be  quite  as  able  to  drive 
sharp  bargains  as  his  praying  partner. 

Then  the  spirit  slowly  and  solemnly  receded  into 
the  darkness.  The  Deacon  started  to  his  feet  with 
something  suspiciously  like  an  oath  upon  his  lips 
and  rushed  at  the  apparition;  but  it  faded  suddenly 
from  view,  and  he  came  slap  against  the  back  of 
the  stage.  The  voice  of  the  medium  rang  out 
through  the  darkness,  sternly  commanding  him  to  be 
seated,  and  the  Deacon  returned  to  his  chair,  crest- 
fallen and  bewildered. 

Scarcely  had  he  taken  his  seat  when  a  second 
spirit,  that  of  a  woman,  rose  into  view  on  another 
part  of  the  stage.  It  wore  a  loose  wrapper,  and  its 
long  black  hair,  which  partly  hid  a  ghastly  white 
face,  swept  over  its  shoulders.  The  Deacon's  eyes 
fairly  started  from  their  sockets  with  astonishment 
and  fear,  and  he  thrust  back  his  chair  and  stared 
open-mouthed  at  the  new  vision.  It  was  the  very 
image  of  his  late  wife,  Susannah! 

"  Ebenezer,"  it  said,  in  an  abrupt,  sharp  tone  (the 
spirit  had  even  a  shriller  voice  than  that  of  the  afore- 
time Mrs.  Smythe),  "  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  with 
the  new  wife  you  mean  to  marry;  but  you  must 
treat  her  better  than  you  treated  me.  You  were 
very  stingy,   Ebenezer,  to  your  poor  Susannah!    I 


Too  Truthful  Spirits, 


i6o 


had  hardly  one  new  gown  a  year,  and  that  was  not 
enough.  You  never  took  me  to  a  concert  or  circus. 
You  could  well  have  afforded  to  keep  a  carriage  for 
me,  but  you  didn't.  I  often  got  sour  looks  from 
you,  and  you  sometimes  said  nasty  things  to  me  just 
after  morning  prayers.  But  the  woman  you  are 
going  to  marry  is  taking  you,  Ebenezer,  on  account 
of  your  money;  and  she  will  not  put  up  with  your 
stingy  ways.  She  is  much  too  young  for  you,  and 
she  is  going  to  lead  you  a  pretty  dance;  and  you 

well  deserve "     But  the  spirit  did  not  finish  the 

sentence.  The  Deacon  had  heard  enough.  The  last 
two  or  three  remarks  had  struck  home.  A  look  of 
mortification  and  dismay  spread  over  his  mottled 
face,  and  with  trembling  legs  he  rose  from  his  seat. 
Extending  his  hands  deprecatingly  against  the  spirit, 
as  if  to  shut  out  its  words  as  well  as  its  countenance, 
he  made  a  sudden  break  for  the  entrance  of  the  hall. 
He  had  got  one-third  of  the  way  down  the  aisle, 
when  the  spirit  disappeared  and  Suckling  turned  up 
the  lights.  Anthony  fleeing  from  Actium,  with  the 
loss  of  a  world  behind  him,  showed  no  greater  rout 
than  did  the  Deacon,  as  he  hastily  beat  his  retreat 
with  his  six  discomfited  followers  close  at  his  heels. 
The  delight  of  the  audience  knew  no  bounds, 
for  the  Deacon  had  few  friends  among  them.  They 
rose  in  their  seats  and  derisively  cheered  him  to 


, 


ijro 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


the  echo,  and  mocking  congratulations  were  showered 
upon  the  committee  as  they  scrambled  for  the  door. 
Never  was  rout  more  complete;  and  amid  all, 
Professor  Suckling's  long,  dark  face  and  sleepy 
eyes  looked  over  the  scene  of  confusion  with  won- 
dering simplicity.  But  in  a  far  corner  of  the  hall 
sat  a  man  almost  shrieking  with  laughter. 
It  was  Tom  Pinckney,  the  Halifax  grocer. 


THE  CORPORAL'S  TROUSERS. 


THE  CORPORAL'S  TROUSERS. 


"  My  loved,  my  long-lost  trousers."— O.  W.  Holmes. 


Corporal  McShane,  of  t!ie  Surrey  Fencibles,  off 
duty  till  the  afternoon  parade,  on  a  fine  June  morn- 
ing, strolled  out  toward  the  North-west  Arm.  The 
air  was  clear  and  bracing,  and  the  corporal,  besides, 
had  his  pipe  and  a  good  supply  of  tobacco  to  while 
away  the  time,  and  a  huge  sandwich  in  his  pocket 
to  stay  the  ravages  of  hunger.  As  he  approached 
the  head  of  the  arm  it  struck  him  that  a  dip  in  the 
water  would  be  an  admirable  thing.  He  walked 
on  a  little  farther  and  looked  round  for  a  convenient 
spot  to  undress,  and  then,  as  he  saw  but  one  old 
shanty  near,  took  off  his  clothes  behind  a  rex  k  and 
plunged  boldly  in.  McShane  was  a  good  swimmer, 
and  the  distance  across  tae  arm  at  that  point  was  not 
great,  so  he  determined  to  swim  to  the  opposite  si. c;re 
and  back  before  coming  out.  After  a  gall.mt  strug- 
gle he  accomplished  the  first  half  of  his  feat:  then, 
resting  a  bit  and  sunning  himself  like  a  huge  stork 
for  some  minutes  on  the  shore,  he  started  back,  but 


I 


11 


H 


I 

i 

•     f 

i   : 


174 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


when  he  reached  his  destination  one  indispensable 
part  of  his  wardrobe  was  missing.  He  looked  round 
in  alarmed  perplexity.  His  regimental  trousers, 
which  had  encased  and  decorated  his  legs  so  often 
on  parade,  were  not  to  be  found.  Like  the  carry- 
ing away  of  Helen  to  Menelaus  was  the  rape  of  his 
trousers  to  the  gallant  Corporal.  He  was  not  only 
in  bitter  grief  over  his  loss,  but  in  a  sad  quandary 
as  to  how  he  should  get  back  to  town ;  and  some 
solution  of  the  problem  was,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
of  pressing  importance. 

The  shanty  mentioned  above  was  occupied  by  an 
Irish  woman,  Mrs.  Bridget  McGinnis,  who  kept  a 
large  flock  of  barn-fowl  for  market.  Among  this 
feathered  live-stock  rambled  at  his  own  sweet  will 
a  goat.  He  was  a  brindled,  shaggy-bearded,  heavy- 
horned  animal,  known  to  the  neighborhood  as 
"Timothy,"  whom  long  immunity  had  made  a  dar- 
ing disrc'garder  of  the  rights  of  others.  His  preda- 
tory instincts  often  led  him  beyond  the  pale  of  Mrs. 
Bridget's  sway,  and  once  he  had  been  known  to 
enter  the  kitchen  of  a  neighbor  half  a  mile  away 
and  stea'l  a  fig  of  tobacco  which  was  lying  on  a 
bench.  This  he  was  later  detected  chewing  in  a 
most  orthodox  manner.  The  shore  <>f  the  arm  was 
a  favfwite  stamping-ground  of  his  goatship.  On 
the   day   lu  question  Timothy   wandered  as    usual 


If! 


The  CorporaV s   Trousers. 


175 


among  the  rocks  and  over  the  sand,  sniffing  at 
everything  "new  and  strange  that  had  suffered  a 
sea-change,"  when  suddenly  he  came  upon  a  heap 
of  red  clothes.  They  were  like  nothing  which 
Timothy  had  ever  before  encountered,  and  he  sur- 
veyed them  awhile  like  a  veritable  Crusoe.  The 
color  was  attractive,  and  he  turned  them  over  and 
over  with  his  nose,  sniffing  at  each  garment  in 
turn.  The  last  object  of  examination  was  the 
trousers.  To  this  bifurcated  husk  of  humanity 
the  goat's  attention  was  attracted  by  a  peculiar 
odor.  In  the  rear  pocket  of  the  trousers  reposed 
the  fragrant  t()i)acco-pouch  of  Corporal  McShane. 

The  smell  of  this  was  not  unpleasing  to  Timothy, 
••kI  he  ended  his  investigations  by  picking  up  the 
garment  and  mar(  hing  off  with  it  in  triumph.  No 
Roman  with  his  trophy  could  have  been  prouder 
than  Timothy  as  with  the  Corporal's  trousers 
grasped  firmly  by  the  seat  he  marched  slowly  into 
the  wid«)w  McGinnis'  barn-yard.  At  the  sight  of 
the  red -striped  garment  Mrs.  McGinnis'  turkeys  were 
filled  with  indignant  fury,  but  Timothy  had  no  such 
Mnreasoning  prejudices.  He  deposited  the  trousers 
carefully  in  a  corner  and  proceeded  to  make  inves- 
tigations. He  explored  the  garment  carefully,  but, 
i«5norant  of  the  mysteries  of  its  construction,  could 
not  find  entrance  to  the  delectable  contents.     De- 


176 


l^alcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


termination,  however,  was  one  of  Timothy's  chief 
characteristics,  so  with  teeth  and  hoofs  he  made  a 
violent  onslaught  on  the  rear.  Her  Majesty's  cloth 
was  tough,  but  Timothy's  courage  was  undaunted, 
and  by  dint  of  pulling  and  stamping  he  man- 
aged to  make  a  large,  ragged  hole  in  the  broadest 
part  of  the  indispensables.  All  this  had  consumed 
time,  and  meanwhile  the  Corporal,  in  full  dress  with 
the  important  exception  of  his  trousers,  was  running 
up  and  down  the  shore  in  consternation.  His  ultra- 
Highland  costume  was  to  say  the  least  inconvenient, 
for  the  air  along  shore  was  beginning  to  grow  chill, 
and  the  wind  fluttered  the  pennon  of  his  shirt  a  little 
uncomfortably.  McShane,  a  prey  to  every  dismal 
foreboding,  wandered  up  and  down  in  ludicrous 
despair.  At  length,  in  his  extremity,  a  thought 
struck  him.  He  would  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Bridget  for 
the  loan  of  a  pair  of  the  late  lamented  Mike's  small- 
clothes. This  was  mortifying  to  his  pride,  but 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  For  a  corporal  of 
one  of  Her  Majesty's  crack  regiments  the  position 
was  in  truth  appalling.  Hov/ever,  he  started  off 
valiantly  for  the  shanty,  but  almost  as  much  fear 
as  came  upon  Godiva  in  her  celebrated  ride  pos- 
sessed him  as  he  fluttered  into  the  barn-yard.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped  spell-bound.  There  was  Timothy 
with  his  nose  in  the  corporal's  tobacco-pouch  search- 


The  CorporaV  s   Trousers. 


177 


ing  for  a  "chew!"  And,  horror  of  horrors!  the 
Corporal  was  disgraced  forever — his  precious  trousers 
had  been  treated  as  badly  as  was  Lord  Marmion  at 
Flodden  Field,  for  they  had  been  dragged  through 
mud  and  dust  until  their  resplendent  color  was 
dimmed,  while  in  their  foundation-part  a  ghastly 
rent  was  visible.  The  Corporal  gave  a  shout  and 
rushed  upon  Timothy,  which  was  the  very  thing  he 
shouldn't  have  done,  for  Timothy  caught  up  the 
trousers  and  ran  with  them  round  the  corner  of  Mrs. 
Bridget's  shanty.  McShane  gave  chase,  while  the 
widow  McGinnis  and  her  three  children  stood  in 
the  doorway,  with  open-mouthed  amusement,  watch- 
ing. At  length  the  Corporal  cornered  Timothy  and 
wrested  the  coveted  regimentals  from  his  hold. 
Alas!  how  departed  was  their  glory!  McShaneheld 
them  up  for  inspection,  and  mournfully  shook  his 
head. 

"  A  hole  was  in  their  amplest  parts, 
As  if  an  imp  had  v;orn  them." 

Rut  there  was  no  time  for  sorrow.  In  half  an  hour 
the  Corporal  must  be  back  for  parade,  and  it  woukl 
take  him  all  that  time  to  get  to  the  citadel.  He 
whipped  on  his  trousers  and  started  off  as  hard  as  he 
could  go  for  quarters,  the  laughier  of  the  McGinn ises 
following  in  his  wake.  He  fondly  hoped  to  be  back 
in  time  to  brush  and  tack  together  his  unfortunate 


I 


i 


II 


178 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


^l 


breeches  before  he  should  have  to  appear  on  drill. 
But  jui>t  as  he  panted  up  the  hill  he  saw  the  soldiers 
turning  out  for  parade.  He  must  e'en  go  as  he  was 
and  trust  to  luck.  He  hoped  that  he  might  not  be 
noticed  and  so  might  avoid  a  severe  wound  to  his 
reputation.  He  hurried  through  the  gate  and, 
quaking  in  every  limb,  took  his  position  in  the  ranks, 
liut  unfortunately  his  station  at  the  end  of  the  line 
made  him  a  conspicuous  object.  As  the  line  wheeled, 
poor  McShane's  back  was  turned  directly  toward 
the  Colonel,  whose  quick  eye  took  in  at  once  the 
Corporal's  demoralized  condition. 

"Halt!"  cried  the  Colonel  sternly.  "Corporal 
McShane  will  step  out  of  the  ranics!  Come  here, 
sir!     What  does  this  disgraceful  exhibition  mean?" 

"Oh,  Colonel,  yer  honor!"  replied  the  crestfallen 
McShane,  touching  his  hat,  while  the  knowledge 
that  the  whole  regiment  was  secretly  laughing  at 
him  confused  h  ,n  'almost  beyond  power  of  utterance, 
"sure'n  it  wa.,  all  along  o'  that  dirthy  spalpeen  av 
a  goat!" 

"A  goat,  sir?"  thundered  the  Colonel,  knitting 
his  brow  and  biting  his  lips  to  restrain  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  to  laugh.  "What  do  you  mean  ? 
Have  you  been  riding  a  gout?" 

"Glory  be  to  the  saints,  no,  sir!  I  wasbathin'  in 
the  Arm,  yer  honor,   an'   along  come   Bridget  Mc- 


The  CorporaV  s  Trousers. 


179 


Ginnis'  goat — may  the  divil  fly  away  wid  him! — 
and  stole  me  throusers  whin  me  bark  wuz  turrned. 
Phat  he  wanted  wid  me  britches  I  haven't  no  more 
idee  than  the  snakes  had  why  St.  Patrick  druv  them 
out  av  Ireland,  but  whin  I  found  him  he  wasa-eatin' 
the  whole  blessed  seat  out  av  im.  An'  me  as  niver 
dishgraced  the  sarvice  yit,  an'  alius  wore  as  purty 
a  pair  av  pants  as  iver  shook  leg  on  parade!" 

The  Corporal's  honest  eyes  were  filled  with  tears 
of  mortified  pride,  and  Colonel  Preston's  face  re- 
laxed its  stern  look.  A  smile  struggled  to  gain 
control  of  his  rugged  features,  as  he  drew  himself 
up  and  looked  fixedly  over  the  Corporal's  head.  He 
gave  a  slight  cough,  and  then  said,  with  a  blending 
of  military  sternness  and  benignity,  "Corporal  Mc- 
Shane,  go  to  your  quarters  and  get  repaired!  Your 
previous  good  conduct  will  -excuse  you  this  time, 
but  if  I  hear  any  more  goat-stories  you  will  make 
your  explanations  inside  the  guard-room.  'Ten- 
tion,  the  regiment!" 

Poor  McShane  profusely  bowed  his  thanks  to  the 
Colonel,  glad  to  have  got  off  so  easily,  and  quickly 
retreated  from  the  ground  to  accomplish  the  soldier- 
like duty  of  closing  up  the  rear. 


I, 


^ 


in 


» 


TOUCHED  WITH  THE  TAR- 
BRUSH. 


'M 


1 


;t 


TOUCHED  WITH  THE  TAR- 
BRUSH. 

"The  incense  vapor  curled  and  swayed 
Hefure  the  mystic  shrine  ; 
Dark  priests  for  direful  vengeance  prayed 
And  poured  out  blood  for  wine." 

— Thk  Ckimb  of  Sirdar  Gah. 

Mysteries  are  scarce  in  Halifax,  but  the  mystery 
of  the  O'Beimes  was  enough  to  keep  tongues  wag- 
ging for  a  generation. 

It  is  a  long,  queer  story,  and  I  could  never  quite 
get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  I  give  you  the  facts  as  1 
know  them,  and  you  can  draw  your  own  conclusions. 
Perhaps  some  day  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  more 
about  the  matter. 

The  O'Beirnes  were  two  brothers,  tall,  swarthy, 

and  fine-looking,  sons,  as  it  was  reported,  of  Major 

O'Beirne,  of  one  of  Her  Majesty's  crack  regiments, 

long  stationed  at  Bombay.     Why  they  had  come  to 

Halifax  nobody  knew;  but  in  spite  of  some  reserve 

at  first  on  the  part  of  the  Halifax  people,  in  a  short 

time  they  grew   so    popular  that  hardly   anybody 

thought  of  questioning  their  antecedents. 

Dick  O'Beirne,  the  younger  of  the  brothers,  was 

183 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  {MT-3) 


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I.I 


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U    IIIII.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


5b 


%^ 


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% 


n? 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


ip 


o 


1 84 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


\ 


It 


one  of  those  fellows  who  win  their  way  to  every- 
body's heart.  He  was  frank,  off-hand,  gallant  with 
women,  comradish  with  men,  and  fond  of  convivial- 
ity and  sports.  His  brother,  Charles,  two  years  the 
elder,  was  wholly  different.  At  most  times  he  ap- 
peared as  frank  and  engaging  as  Dick,  but  occasion- 
ally he  showed  a  strange,  sinister  reserve,  and  then  it 
did  not  need  a  very  fertile  imagination  to  fancy  that 
a  spirit  of  diabolical  cruelty  lay  hidden  in  the  depths 
of  his  coal-black  eyes.  Yet  for  all  this  he  was  a 
favorite.  His  was  the  stronger  character,  and  the 
world  likes  people  of  strength. 

So  these  dark  strangers  stayed  on  apparently  at 
their  own  sweet  wills,  hob-nobbing  with  club-men, 
messing  with  officers,  and  dancing  graceful  and  not 
unacceptable  attendance  on  pretty  girls.  It  was 
well  known  that  Colonel  Preston,  at  least,  who  had 
been  Major  O'Beirne's  bosom  friend  when  both 
were  captains,  knew  all  about  these  popular  young 
fellows;  and  since  he  had  taken  pains  to  be  civil  to 
them,  and  had  more  than  once,  indeed,  shown  marked 
interest  in  their  affairs,  the  civilian  families  felt  that 
it  was  not  incumbent  on  them  to  inquire  into 
their  pedigree,  especially  as  they  showed  themselves 
gentlemen  and  were  supplied  with  that  excellent 
patent  of  respectability,  a  bank  account. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  some  of  the  more  curt- 


Touched  with  the  Tar -Brush. 


185 


ous,  who  had  marriageable  daughters,  attempted  to 
sound  Colonel  Preston  and  other  officers  regarding 
the  O'Beirnes.  But  it  soon  became  evident  that 
the  history  of  the  brothers  was  not  generally  known 
to  the  regiment,  and  that  wise  old  fellow,  the  Colo- 
nel, persistently  kept  his  mouth  shut;  so  there  the 
matter,  ended. 

One  of  the  most  popular  houses  in  town  was  the 
Honorable  Leonard  Lingate's.  Mr.  Lingate  had 
formerly  held  one  of  the  highest  provincial  offices, 
and  was  now  a  member  of  the  Dominion  Senate. 
Of  the  Lingate  girls — and  there  were  four  of  them 
— Grace  was  by  common  consent  the  most  fascinat- 
ing. She  was  a  tall,  handsome  blonde,  with  a  fine 
form,  a  stately  carriage,  and  a  typical  Irish  beauty's 
neck.  Her  grandfather  on  her  mother's  side  was 
an  Irish  gentleman,  and  Grace  showed  her  origin, 
even  having  the  least  delicious  touch  of  Irish 
brogue.  She  had  sympathetic  eyes,  a  delicate 
profile,  and  a  smile  that  warmed  one  like  a  sun- 
beam. 

Before  long  the  O'Beirnes  were  almost  daily  vis- 
itors at  the  Lingates*,  and  their  admiration  for  Grace 
was  apparent  to  every  one.  They  dropped  in  to 
afternoon  tea  and  had  her  always  to  themselves. 
They  went  to  balls,  and  the  name  of  one  or  the  other 
was  on   her   programme   for   almost   every  dance. 


i 


1 


i86 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


U    I 


"Blast  those  black  fellows,"  said  Lieutenant  Hicks 
one  night;  "why  didn't  they  stay  in  India,  where 
they  belong?  No  white  man  can  get  a  sight  of 
Grace  Lingate  when  they  are  round;  and  they  are 
always  round!"  And  others  of  the  young  officers 
and  civilians,  too,  in  much  more  vigorous  language 
frequently  echoed  the  sentiment.  That  Grace  Lin- 
gate liked  the  O'Beirnes  was  clear  enough.  If  she 
had  not  liked  them  she  would  have  sent  them  about 
their  business,  as  she  had  sent  many  another  fellow 
before  them.  But  which  of  them  she  liked  best  no- 
body could  for  a  long  time  tell.  At  last  it  was 
noticed  that  Charles  seemed  decidedly  more  in  favor 
than  Dick;  and  Dick,  who  was  evidently  no  less  in 
love  than  his  brother,  began  to  hold  aloof,  and 
apparently  had  made  up  his  mind  to  resign  the  cov- 
eted prize.  His  disappointment  told  on  the  fellow, 
however;  he  lost  his  spirits;  once  in  a  while  was 
found  at  the  club  drinking  champagne  alone — al- 
ways a  bad  sign ;  and  there  were  times  when  there 
was  hardly  a  trace  of  his  old  frank,  open  smile  to  be 
seen,  and  when,  instead  of  the  affable  and  winning 
manner  that  had  won  for  him  so  warm  a  place  in  the 
hearts  of  his  acquaintances,  there  was  a  brusqueness 
about  him  that  seemed,  however,  more  the  result  of 
preoccupation  than  of  ill-humor. 

One   night    Charles   O'Beirne   was   sitting  with 


Touched  with  the  Tar-Brush. 


187 


Colonel  Preston  over  a  smoking  glass  of  whiskey 
toddy  in  the  little  room  the  latter  called  his  den  in 
the  house  he  had  rented  on  South  Park  Street.  The 
two  men  sipped  their  whiskey,  long  wreaths  of 
smoke  from  their  cigars  winding  upward,  mean- 
while, until  the  air  was  thick  with  it.  At  first  they 
chatted  about  indifferent  things,  but  after  a  time 
the  Colonel  got  astride  his  favorite  topic,  India. 
Three  glasses  of  hot  Scotch  are  apt  to  make  the 
tongue  move  glibly,  especially  if  the  bottle  has  been 
freely  tipped  and  the  brand  is  good. 

"It  is  a  rather  queer  thing  to  me,  Charley,"  said 
the  Colonel  at  length,  looking  a  little  searchingly  at 
his  companion,  "  why  you  wear  that  ring  so  conspic- 
uously. If  you  did  so  in  India,  it  wouldn't  be  good 
for  your  health." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Charles. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  like  to  stand  an  insurance  risk 
on  your  life." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  ring?" 

"Don't  you  know?"  replied  the  Colonel,  eying 
him  sideways. 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  Did  your  father  never  tell  you  ?"  and  the  Colonel 

lowered  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper.     "  Didn't  he 

tell  you  that  that  ring  was  stolen  out  of  a  Buddhist 

temple  at  Buhrampoor  ?'* 
12 


188 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


% 
if 

-' '.  i 

%. 


"You  astonish  me,  Colonel;  I  hadn't  the  faintest 
idea  of  it!     Aren't  you  joking?" 

"I  am  not.  Never  was  more  serious  in  my  life. 
Take  your  ring  off  and  let  me  look  at  it  for  a  min- 
ute. I  don't  think  I  am  mistaken."  Charles  drew  ^ 
the  ring  from  his  finger  and  handed  it  to  the  Colo- 
nel. It  was  a  large  opal  of  a  peculiar  iridescent 
hue — a  stone  very  highly  prized  in  India.  The 
Colonel  turned  the  ring  and  examined  the  back  of 
the  stone  where  it  showed  through  the  gold.  "  I 
thought  so,"  he  said  quietly.  "Do  you  see  that 
faint  scratching  on  the  back,  almost  covered  by  the 
setting?  That  is  the  mark  of  the  sacred  office  of 
Buddha.  That  sign  shows  that  the  stone,  like  all 
the  others  marked  in  the  same  way,  is  the  exclusive 
property  of  the  god.  Woe  to  the  person,  native  or 
European,  Afghan,  Persian,  or  Malay,  in  whose  pos- 
session one  of  these  sacred  stones  is  found !  Your 
father  never  wore  this,  I  think  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  for  some  time  before  he  died." 
"For  how  long?"  -* 

"  Nearly  a  year,  I  believe." 
"  He  died  quite  suddenly  at  last,  did  he  not?" 
"Yes;  his  old  enemy,  the  fever,  took  him  off." 
"Charles,   you  had    better   sell  that   ring;  or,  if 
you  don't  want  to  do  that,   then   put   it  carefully 
away. " 


Touched  with  the   Tar- Brush. 


189 


"Oh,  come  now,  Colonel;  why  all  this  msytery? 
What  do  you  know  about  the  ring  ?" 

"  Nothing  in  particular.  Only  I  advise  you  not 
to  wear  it  publicly,  that  is  all." 

It  was  no  use  for  Charles  to  question  the  Colonel 
further,  so  he  gave  the  matter  up  and  thought  no 
more  of  it. 

About  two  weeks  later  Charles  met,  at  the  house 
of  a  friend,  a  gentleman  who  had  just  come  from 
India.  This  Mr.  Coleman  had  been  an  indefatiga- 
ble traveller,  having  been  pretty  much  all  over  the 
world,  and  having  lived  among  all  sorts  of  people. 
On  the  evening  in  question  Coleman  was  relating 
some  stories  he  had  gathered  on  his  travels,  and 
the  conversation  gradually  shifted  to  India.  This 
brought  Charles  and  the  new-comer  into  a  close 
conversation,  which  they  kept  up  for  a  while  after 
the  dinner  was  over,  and  again  resumed  as  they  set  off 
to  their  respective  quarters,  which  were  near  each 
other.  It  was  still  early  in  the  evening,  and  Charles 
proposed  to  his  new  acquaintance  their  spending  an 
hour  at  the  Halifax  Club,  of  which  the  O'Beirnes 
were  members.  Coleman  agreed,  and  they  sat 
down  together  in  the  empty  smoking-room. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  traveller,  as  he  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  "  queerer  things  happen  in 
India  than  anywhere  else.     Our  conversation  recalls 


(I 


190 


Tales  of  a  Garrison    Town, 


w 


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r  -1 

I 

1 
•is 

m 


rj 


a  story  that  I  heard  at  Lucknow,  a  story  which  inter- 
ested me  so  greatly  that  I  have  still  a  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  all  its  particulars.  An  officer  at  an  up-coun- 
try station — it  is  singular  that  I  have  forgotten  the 
name  of  the  place,  but  I  think  it  ends  with  'poor' 
— formed  a  connection  with  a  Hindoo  girl,  the 
daughter  of  a  Buddhist  priest  attached  to  a 
temple  in  that  town.  Now  this  in  itself  was  a 
flagrant  offence  to  such  intensely  religious  people 
as  the  Hindoos,  and  their  hatred  against  the  woman 
was  shown  openly.  All  communication  between  her 
and  her  race  was  broken  off,  and  she  was  thrown 
entirely  on  the  protection  of  the  officer,  who,  if  I 
mistake  not,  was  an  Irishman  of  good  family  and 
very  well  able  to  take  her  part,  which,  to  his  credit 
be  it  said,  he  very  faithfully  and  tenderly  did.  The 
woman,  cast  off  by  her  people  and  depending  alto- 
gether on  the  English,  became  a  baptized  Christian 
and  returned  the  hatred  of  the  priests  with  interest. 
Two  children  were  born,  and  things  for  a  while  went 
on  quietly.  But — and  here  comes  in  the  strange 
part  of  the  story — a  plot  was  discovered  through  the 
agency  of  a  faithful  native  servant  to  steal  the 
youngest  child.  In  fact,  the  design  was  at  first 
successful,  and  the  child,  when  found  after  a  long 
search,  had  been  spirited  off  to  a  secret  place  remote 


i  ! 


Touched  with  the   Tar- Brush. 


191 


from  the  officers*  quarters.  On  the  nape  of  the 
boy's  neck — he  was  about  two  years  old — was  dis- 
covered an  inflamed  spot,  which  when  it  healed 
showed  a  peculiar  scar,  which  the  native  servant 
declared  was  a  secret  mark  of  the  Buddhist  priests. 
Nothing,  however,  could  be  proved  against  them;  but 
the  mother  was  highly  incensed  and  vowed  she 
would  have  revenge.  The  regiment  had  been  or- 
dered to  another  place,  and  the  very  evening  before 
it  left  a  large  and  fine  opal,  one  of  the  eyes  of  the 
statue  of  the  god,  had  been  pried  from  its  setting 
and  stolen.  A  tremendous  sensation  was  raised 
over  the  business.  The  English,  and  especially  the 
Christianized  Hindoo  woman,  were  accused  of 
the  sacrilege,  and  excitement  ran  so  high  for  a  time 
that  a  European's  life  was  not  safe  in  the  town. 
The  thing  seemed  to  blow  over  after  a  while,  but 
it  was  suspected  that  the  Buddhist  priests  had  spies 
out  in  search  of  the  lost  jewel.  So  far  as  I  have 
heard,  it  was  never  found ;  but  some  three  months 
after  the  removal  of  the  regiment,  the  officer  I  have 
spoken  of  coming  home  one  day  to  his  private  city 
quarters,  found  his  wife — for  he  had  married  her  since 
she  had  become  a  Christian — dying  in  agony.  The 
symptoms  were  unmistakably  those  of  poison,  but 
how  and  by  whom  it  had  been  administered  always 


■H  'r- 


I     : 


I  II 


i    ! 


( 


192 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


remaineJ  a  mystery.  The  implacable  resentment 
of  the  priests  was  the  only  way  of  accounting  for 
the  tragedy." 

"You  said  this  happened  in  Buhrampoor?"  asked 
Charles  slowly,  shading  his  face  with  his  hand  as  if 
to  keep  the  light  of  the  gas  from  his  eyes. 

"  Buh — Buhrampoor !  I  bel  ieve  that  was  the  name 
of  the  place.      How  did  you  come  to  hit  on  it?" 

"  I  made  a  random  guess.  It  is  a  rather  strange 
story." 

"It  has  been  vouched  for  as  true.  My  Hindoo 
servant  comes  from  somewhere  near  the  place,  and 
if  1  had  not  discharged  the  black  rascal  this  very 
day  he  might  perhaps  have  been  induced  to  give 
us  further  particulars.  But  what  is  the  matter? 
You  look  as  white  as  a  ghost!" 

"That  cigar  has  turned  me  half-sick — tobacco 
sometimes  affects  me  that  way,"  and  Charles  laid 
down  the  half-smoked  weed  with  trembling  fingers. 
"It  will  pass  off  soon.  You  said  you  brought  a 
Hindoo  servant  with  you.  How  do  you  know  he 
comes  from  that  locality?" 

"  By  observation.  He  has  a  trick  of  the  tongue 
of  that  part  of  India;  and  once,  when  I  questioned 
him  about  this  same  story,  he  was  reticent  as  an 
oyster.  Now,  had  he  not  already  known  the  facts 
of  the  case,  he  would  have  asked  me  about  them.     I 


Touched  with  the   Tar-Brush. 


193 


never  knew  what  to  make  of  him.  Sometimes  I've 
fancied  he  was  a  man  of  higher  caste  than  he  seemed. 
He  did  not  act  as  if  he  had  been  brought  up  a  ser- 
vant, but  to  the  time  of  landing  here  I  could  not 
have  had  a  more  faithful  and  devoted  attendant. 
When  we  arrived  here  he  suddenly  became  saucy 
and  insubordinate.  I  was,  however,  inclined  to 
overlook  several  peccadilloes  on  account  of  his  pre- 
vious good  behavior,  but  at  last  I  missed  a  valuable 
silver-hilted  dagger  from  my  trunk,  the  existence  of 
which  was  known  only  to  him.  It  was  a  beautiful 
weapon  with  a  slender,  engraved  blade  waved  like 
a  Malay  crease.  I  have  heard  that  it  is  a  favorite 
weapon  with  the  assassins  of  India,  and  as  I  had 
never  seen  one  before  I  prized  it  highly.  I  am 
convinced  that  Jerry  has  it." 

"Jerry — that  is  not  a  Hindoo  name." 
"Oh,  he  calls  himself  Bahlundar  Singh.  I  have 
nicknamed  him  Jerry.  The  fellow  is  now  on  the 
streets  the  whole  time.  I  have  met  him  poking 
about  the  barracks  or  lounging  around  public-houses 
as  if  he  was  possessed  of  an  uneasy  demon.  The 
fellow,  like  all  his  race,  is  a  coward,  and  I  think 
perfectly  inoffensive,  or  I  would  suspect  him  of 
some  knavery.  This  cold  climate  plays  the  deuce 
with  Hindoos.  I  suppose  it  will  end  in  my  taking 
pity  on  the  fellow  and  shipping  him  back  to  his 


ri 


194 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town* 


own  country.  I  picked  him  up  in  Bombay,  and  as 
he  had  no  objection,  but  rather  a  desire,  to  come  to 
America,  1  brought  him  along.  He  is  an  unusually 
acute  fellow,  even  for  a  Hindoo.  He  says  he  was 
educated  for  the  priesthood,  though  how  he  got  over 
the  bar  of  caste  I  can't  imagine;  for  of  course,  as 
you  are  aware  all  Hindoo  servants  are  of  a  much 
lower  caste  than  the  priests.  Probably,  like  all  the 
rest  of  his  race,  the  fellow  lies." 

After  Coleman  took  his  leave,  Charles  remained 
sitting  for  a  long  time  by  the  club-room  fire — for  in 
Halifax  the  evenings  even  in  early  June  are  often 
chilly — sunk  in  deep  thought.  From  words  which 
his  father  had  let  fall  at  different  times  he  had  be- 
fore suspected  that  there  was  a  mystery  connected 
with  his  own  and  his  brother's  birth.  Could  it  be 
that  this  gossip  of  Coleman's  was  the  solution  of  it? 
The  story,  as  told,  fitted  exactly  with  the  facts  of 
which  he  was  cognizant.  Arriving  home  he  went 
straight  to  a  large  desk  which  had  been  his  father's, 
opened  it,  and  took  from  it  a  marriage  certificate, 
which  he  unfolded  and  carefully  perused.  It  stated 
that  Timothy  O'Beirne,  Major  in  Her  Majesty's 
Eighteenth  Regiment  of  Infantry,  had  been  married 
on  the  1 2th  day  of  August,  1854,  to  Maria  Eva 
Brooks,  at  the  cantonment  chapel  of  Lootofah,  while 
at  the  bottom,  as  witness,  was  the  name  of  George 


Touched  with  the   Tar-Brush, 


195 


Preston,  captain  in  the  same  regiment.  Then  he 
turned  to  an  old  note-book,  and  found  that  his 
father  had  been  stationed  at  Buhrampoor  just 
previous  to  the  regiment's  moving  to  Lootofah. 
He  knew  that  there  was  a  Buddhist  temple  at  Buhr- 
ampoor, but  none  at  Lootofah.  He  sat  a  long  time 
in  deep  thought.  A  hard  look  passed  into  his  face 
and  the  natural  swarthiness  of  his  complexion  dark- 
ened as  he  slowly  arose,  and,  taking  the  lamp  in  his 
hand,  walked  to  a  mirror  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  He  stared  long  and  earnestly  at  the  glass, 
the  flush  on  his  cheek  growing  deeper  and  deeper 
under  the  tawny  skin  as  his  counterfeit  self  con- 
fronted him,  as  it  seemed,  with  a  look  of  silent 
mockery.  Suddenly  a  burst  of  pent-up  passion 
overmastered  him;  with  a  convulsed  face  and  with 
a  monstrous  oath  he  dashed  his  doubled  fist  into  the 
reflecting  surface  and  shattered  it  to  fragments. 
"Touched  with   the  tar-brush!     Touched  with  the 

tar-brush!     Of  all  the  damnable "     The  words 

came  from  his  lips  like  the  hiss  of  a  snake. 

He  turned  abruptly  away  and  paced  hurriedly  up 
and  down  the  room  for  some  minutes,  the  fierce,  wild 
look  of  a  hunted  beast  of  prey  in  his  eyes.  Sud- 
denly he  felt  something  trickling  down  his  fingers, 
and  lifting  his  hand  saw  that  he  had  cut  it  against 
the  edges  of  the  broken  glass.     "I  am  a  fool!"  he 


Hi 


tJ !  i 


m  \ 


I   I 


m 


196 


Ta/es  of* a  Garrison   Town. 


muttered,  and  hastily  wrapped  his  handkerchief 
around  the  bleeding  hand.  Then  suddenly  stopping 
in  his  walk,  he  sat  down  before  the  desk  and  again 
began  carefully  to  examine  and  compare  the  papers 
it  contained.  He  had  not  finished  his  task  when  he 
heard  his  brother's  step  ascending  the  stairs. 

"You  are  out  late,  Dick,"  said  Charles  as  he 
turned  the  key  in  the  desk,  glancing  at  the  same 
time  at  the  clock  upon  the  mantel. 

"Why,  yes,  Charley,  I  was  out  with  the  boys  on 
a  bit  of  a  time,  and  we  wound  up  with  a  supper 
at  Rigg's  saloon;"  and  the  handsome  young  fellow 
flung  himself  down  on  a  chair  near  by.  His  flushed 
face  showed  that  he  had  been  drinking  pretty  heav- 
ily. "  Hang  it,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  the 
looking-glass?"  he  said,  glancing  up. 

"  I  accidentally  struck  it  with  my  hand.  You 
have  been  drinking  again,  I  see,"  said  Charles  with 
a  slight  tone  of  contempt,  casting  a  side  glance  at 
his  brother. 

"  Have  I  ?  I  suppose  I  have.  But  what  is  a  fel- 
low to  do  with  himself?  It  was  all  your  work,  our 
coming  out  to  this  infernal  hole,  where  the  grass 
grows  in  the  public  streets,  begad!" 

"You  were  well  enough  contented  a  month  ago." 

"Well,  I've  changed  my  mind;  I'm  tired  of  the 
place." 


N 


Touched  zvith  the   Tar- Brush, 


197 


"  You  forget  that  it  was  you  who  first  proposed 
our  coming  here.  You  know  the  Colonel  is  our  god- 
father, and  has  each  of  us  down  for  a  few  thousands. 
He  has  done  well  by  us  otherwise,  too." 

*' Hy  you,  you  mean,"  sneered  Dick. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"Oh,  you  know  well  enough,"  and  Dick  stretched 
himself  and  yavned.  "  Don't  try  to  play  the  inno- 
cent with  me,  Charley;  it  won't  wash." 

"Oh,  you  mean  the  Lingates!  And  am  I  to  be 
blamed  for  being  preferred  there  to  you?  I  am  not 
in  the  habit  of  fuddling  my  brains  over  a  bar. 
What  do  you  expect  ?" 

"Never  mind;  hang  it,  let  the  subject  rest!  I'm 
tired  and  sleepy;"  and  Dick  rose,  and,  slowly  un- 
dressing, tumbled  into  bed  and  was  soon  in  a  pro- 
found sleep.  Charles  looked  at  the  sleeper  and 
smiled.  His  expression  was  bitter  and  scornful  and 
his  face  grew  set.  "  I  must  get  her  before  the  thing 
comes  out,"  he  thought;  "they  can  then  say  what 
they  will.  With  Grace  and  the  Lingate  money,  I 
can  snap  my  fingers  at  the  whole  pack  of  s«andal- 
mongers.  I  must  have  another  talk  with  the  Colo- 
nel, for,  after  all,  the  thing  is,  so  far,  little  more 
than  conjecture.  I  must  have  direct  proof."  He 
looked  contemptuously  down  at  Dick,  "  This  fool 
of  a  brother  of  mine  sleeps  like  a  log.     Gad!  I  wish 


!! 


',' ) 


ii 

i 
1 

1^ 

i 
t 

h' 

I 

198 


Ta/es  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


. 


I  could.  My  head's  too  full  of  all  this  stuff."  Sud- 
denly a  thought  flashed  across  his  mind.  He  bent 
over  the  sleeper  and  softly  removed  the  covering 
from  the  back  of  his  neck.  There  was  a  little  scar 
just  above  the  nape,  which  bore  a  resemblance  to  a 
small  cross  or  dagger.  Charles  looked  at  it  ear- 
nestly and  then  drew  the  cover  up  again.  There 
was  a  hard  smile  on  his  face..  "It  must  be 
true,  or  the  devil's  in  it,"  he  said  slowly,  staring 
blankly  at  the  window.  "Shall  I  tell  him?  No; 
the  young  fool  would  blurt  it  out  the  first  time  he 
got  drunk.  But  I  must  make  sure — I  must  see  the 
Colonel." 

The  discovery  that  Charles  had  made  weighed  so 
much  on  his  mind  that  next  morning  he  started  for 
a  long  walk  through  the  park  to  think  the  matter 
over.  He  was  strolling  along  abstractedly,  when  a 
light  touch  was  laid  upon  his  arm.  He  turned, 
somewhat  startled,  and  looked  into  the  dark  face  of 
a  Hindoo.  The  man's  features  were  sharply  chis- 
elled and  betokened  keen  intelligence,  and  he  was 
dressed  like  an  Englishman,  except  that  he  wore 
the  white  turban  of  his  race. 

"Sahib  live  in  Hindostan?"  said  the  dark- 
skinned  man  in  a  soft,  insinuating  tone. 

"Yes,  I  h^ve  lived  there,"  answered  Charles, 
frowning, 


Touched  with  the  Tar-Brush, 


199 


"Sahib  will  take  me  for  servant?  I  serve  sahib 
well." 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  O'Beirne. 

"Bahlundar  Singh,  sahib." 

Charles  paused.  The  fellow  was  perhaps  able  to 
give  him  some  information  on  the  one  subject  of 
his  thought,  but  it  was  clear  that  to  do  this  he  must 
take  him  into  his  service.  "  Well,  Bahlundar 
Singh,"  he  said,  "  I  will  take  you  on  one  condition. 
It  is  that  you  prove  faithful  and  obedient  and  keep 
your  tongue  still  about  me  and  my  affairs.  I  exact 
no  other  conditions,  as  I  understand  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  duties  of  a  gentleman's  servant. 
You  will  put  in  an  appearance  at  my  lodging  this 
evening  at  supper-time,"  Charles  turned  on  his 
heel  and  resumed  his  walk,  while  the  Hindoo 
slipped  noiselessly  out  of  sight.  It  occurred  after- 
ward to  him  that  he  had  not  given  the  man  his 
address;  but  this  was  evidently  not  necessary,  for 
the  Indian  turned  up  at  his  lodging  at  the  proper 
hour. 

Bahlundar  Singh  proved  a  jewel.  His  deft  fin- 
gers were  soon  putting  the  disorderly  bachelor  apart- 
ment to  rights.  O'Beirne  had  removed  the  opal 
ring  from  his  finger,  and  it  lay  on  the  desk  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  room.  As  he  stood  washing  his 
hands   he  secretly  observed  the  Hindoo  noiselessly 


r 


200 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


i 


f. 


gliding  about.  With  a  side  glance  he  saw  the  ser- 
vant give  a  quick  look  and  an  involuntary  spring 
toward  the  jewel,  then  check  himself  and  busily  re- 
sume his  work.  After  a  minute  Charles  slipped  the 
ring  again  on  his  finger,  and  when  the  Hindoo's 
back  was  turned  he  opened  the  desk  and  quietly 
put  the  ring  into  the  corner  of  a  little  drawer  that 
fastened  with  a  spring.  "  You  can  go,  Bahlundar 
Singh,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not  want  you  any  more  to- 
night. I  will  leave  some  errands  for  you  in  the 
morning,  so  come  early."  The  black  bowed  silently 
and  withdrew.  Charles  went  out,  carefully  locked 
the  door  after  him,  and  strolled  in  the  direction  of 
Colonel  Preston's  headquarters..  He  was  soon  in 
the  den  of  the  old  soldier,  and,  armed  with  his  new 
knowledge,  gained  without  much  difficulty  a  confir- 
mation of  his  suspicions.  "  I  didn't  want,  to  tell  you, 
Charley,  just  how  the  thing  was.  It  is  a  confounded- 
ly disagreeable  matter  and  had  better  be  kept  quiet, 
and  of  course  you  are  only  too  anxious  that  it  should 
be.      Does  Dick  know  of  it?" 

"No,  nor  shall  he!  One  is  enough.  Why  should 
I  dim  the  fellow's  happiness?  As  for  me,  it  don't 
much  matter;  I  shall  soon  leave  town." 

"Don't  take  it  to  heart,"  answered  the  kind  old 
Colonel.  "  It  isn't  your  fault,  Charley,  nor  is  it 
^    /'s.     There  is  no  need  of  your  ever  telling  it  to 


Touched  with  the   Tar- Brush. 


20I 


any  one"  (with  a  stress  on  the  "  ever"  and  "  any  one," 
for  the  Colonel  had  Charles'  prospective  marriage  in 
his  eye,  and  imagined  the  young  man  might  be 
quixotic  enough  to  tell  his  betrothed) ;  "as  for  me, 
my  mouth  is  sealed.  Go  home  and  take  a  good 
night's  sleep,  my  boy — you  look  as  if  you  needed  it." 

Charles  walked  back  to  his  lodgings,  deep  in 
thought.  Suddenly  his  brow  cleared,  and  he  en- 
tered his  lodgings  with  a  firm,  quick  step.  Dick, 
too,  had  also  just  come  in  and  was  in  high  spirits. 
To  Charles'  surprise  he  leaped  off  his  chair  and 
seized  his  brother  by  the  shoulders  in  joyous  excite- 
ment. "It's  all  right,  Charley!"  he  cried.  "It  was 
all  a  mi»-''\ke.  It  was  me  she  loved  all  along.  I 
hope  •  are  not  cut  up  about  it,"  he  added  with  a 
sudden  misgiving.  "  You  couldn't  have  loved  her 
as  I  did,  Charley;  she  acted  offish  to  me,  and  I 
didn't  take  the  hint — couldn't  catch  on.  Oh,  she's 
just  the  dearest  little  girl  alive!  And  I  told  her, 
Charley,  I  wouldn't  drink  any  more,  and  I  won't. 
Hang  it,  old  man,  don't  look  so  glum!  I  was  ready 
to  give  in  to  you  when  I  thought  you  had  the  inside 
track;  but  we  can't  both  have  her,  you  know,  and 
she's  loved  me  and  I've  loved  her  for  ever  so  long. 
Come,  now,  you're  not  angry  with  me,  are  you?" 

During  part  of  this  speech  a  wild-beast  impulse 
seized  so  strongly  upon  Charles  to  take  his  brother 


I 


202 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


\n 


I  1 


by  t!ie  throat  and  strangle  the  life  out  of  him 
that  he  dug  his  finger-nails  deeply  into  the  palms  of 
his  hands  in  his  efforts  to  appear  calm.  The  dis- 
appointment was  a  bitter  one.  That  this  fool  of  a 
younger  brother,  whose  ability  to  thwart  his  love  he 
had  derided,  should  now  step  in  between  him  and 
his  most  cherished  desire,  filled  his  heart  with 
hatred.  But  he  restrained  himself  and  said  quietly: 
"What  makes  you  think  I  was  your  rival,  Dick? 
It  was  all  your  own  foolish  fancy.  I  admired  the 
girl,  of  course,  as  I  do  a  dozen  others.  I  congratu- 
late you  on  your  success,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand 
with  assumed  warmth. 

All  that  night  Charles  lay  awake,  thinking,  and 
round  his  dark  vigil  hovered  the  furies  of  jealousy 
and  revenge.  For  the  next  few  days  he  did  not  go 
near  the  Lingates*  house,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual 
custom,  drank  heavily,  and  carried  in  his  manner  a 
fitful,  reckless  gayness.  He  had  not  seen  Dick  for 
two  days,  when  the  latter  suddenly  came  rushing  into 
the  room  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  "Look 
here,  Charley,  did  you  ever  see  anything  more  infa- 
mous?" he  shouted. 

"Hush!"  said  Charles;  "don't  let  the  whole  town 
hear  you.     What  is  it?" 

"Read  that!"  cried  Dick,  thrusting  a  crumpled 
note  into  Charles'  hand.     "I've  just  got  it  from 


Touched  with  the  Tar -Brush. 


203 


Grace.  Her  father  suspects  me — would  you  believe 
it  ? — suspects  me  of  I  don't  know  what!  Who  could 
have  concocted  such  a  lie — such  an  infernal  lie? 
Grace  never  doubted  me,  but  her  father  did — act- 
ually, almost  turned  me  out  of  the  house!  It'll  be 
all  up  between  us  if  you  don't  go  and  tell  them  it's 
a  lie!  Do  go,  that's  a  dear  fellow,  or  my  heart'll 
break;"  and  Dick  threw  himself  down  in  a  chair 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Charles  took  the 
letter  and  read  aloud  these  lines: 


To  Leonard  Lingate,  Esq. — 

Dear  Sir:  For  entirely  honorable  reasons  I  must 
not  divulge  my  name,  but  I  write  to  warn  you 
against  two  young  men,  Charles  and  Richard 
O'Beirne,  who  are  frequent  guests  at  your  house. 
There  is  a  rumor — I  do  not  know  how  true  it  is — 
that  the  younger  Mr.  O'Beirne  is  plighted  to  one  of 
your  daughters.  If  so,  I  beg  to  inform  you  that 
these  young  men  are  the  illegitimate  sons  of  a  Hin- 
doo woman  who  was  cast  off  by  her  own  people. 
Have  you  never  suspected  that  they  were  "  touched 
with  the  tar-brush,"  as  they  say  in  India?  If  con- 
fronted with  the  fact  they  will  probably  deny  it; 
but  it  is  well  known  to  Colonel  Preston,  who  served 
in  the  same  regiment  with  Major  O'Beirne  when  his 

sons  were  born.     The  mother  of  these  O'Beirnes, 
13 


IV 


PI 

It 

din 


Si 


!      { 


204 


7a/i's  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


besides  being  disreputable  morally,  was  a  criminal, 
amenable  to  law.  She  stole  a  valuable  jewel  from 
the  eye  of  the  god  in  a  Buddhist  temple  of  her  native 
town — the  worst  offence  known  to  Hindoos,  and  one 
which  is  punishable  with  death.  It  is  said  she  was 
poisoned  by  their  emissaries.  Major  O'Beirne,  partly 
on  account  of  the  mother's  death  and  partly  to  con- 
ceal the  irregularity  of  his  sons*  births,  sent  them 
at  an  early  age  to  the  south  of  France  to  be  educated. 
They  have  lately  been  in  India,  however,  and  have 
been  made  cognizant  of  their  odious  family  secret. 
Finding  that  their  story  was  too  well  known  in  Eng- 
lish circles,  they  have  come  to  America  to  escape 
the  reproach  of  their  debased  Hindoo  blood. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir. 

Respectfully  yours,  J.  B. 


t«  W!\ 


What  do  you  think  of  that?  Could  anything  be 
more  infamous?"  cried  Dick,  when  his  brother  had 
finished  reading  the  letter. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,"  replied  Charles  gravely, 
"that  every  word  of  this  is  true." 

"True!"  Dick  opened  his  mouth  in  horrified  as- 
tonishment. "  True !  Why,  Charley,  you  have  gone 
mad!     Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?" 

"Perfectly  well.  I  repeat  my  words — it  is 
true." 


Touched  with  the   Tar-Brush. 


205 


"God  in  heaven!  it  can't  be  possible!"  Dick 
stared  at  him  with  an  ashen  face. 

Charles  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  wanted  to  spare  you  this,  Dick,  but  I  have 
known  it  for  some  time.  It  seems  that  we  have 
friends  who  have  interested  themselves  in  our  affairs 
to  some  purpose.  Of  course,  now  you  know  the 
truth,  you  will  inform  Grace  that  you  were  mis- 
taken." 

"How  can  I,  Charley?  How  the  deuce  can  I? 
I'll  be  cast  off  like  a  mangy  cur.      I  can't  do  it!" 

"You're  a  fool!"  said  Charles,  turning  and  facing 
his  brother.  "If  you  don't,  I  will.  You  couldn't 
conceal  it  now  if  you  would.  They'll  make  inves- 
tigations and  the  whole  matter  will  come  out.  As 
for  me,  I  quit  Halifax.  You  can  stay  and  fight  it 
out  with  old  Lingate  and  Grace  if  you  care  to,  but 
I  warn  you  it  won't  be  of  any  use.  The  old  cock  is 
proud  as  Lucifer,  and  Grace  will  be  the  obedient 
daughter.  I  will  transfer  that  Hindoo  to  you.  His 
wages  are  paid  for  a  month  and  you  can  dismiss  him 
then  if  you  wish.  I  leave  day  after  to-morrow 
morning  for  New  York.      Bi 


pshi 


T 


ter  go  to  bed  and  forget  about  it.  What  is  a  girl, 
anyway?  There  are  thousands  as  charming  as  your 
fair  one  who  will  not  be  so  particular.  Disappoint- 
ments are  the  rule  in  life,  and  why  should  you  be 


w 


206 


7)r/cs  of  a  Garrison    Town. 


! 


i 


I 


w 

I' I ; 


.:  4   ■ 


f      ■< 


:ii!l 


exempt?  I'm  going  out  for  a  walk  Ijcfore  turning 
in,  and  when  you  go  to  bed  I  wish  } ou  would  leave 
the  door  ajar. " 

Charles  stayed  out  till  he  finished  a  eigar  and 
then  returned  to  the  house.  All  was  (juiet,  for  the 
hour  was  late,  and  he  noiselessly  elor.ed  the  front 
door  and  stepped  along  the  earpeted  hall  to  his 
room.  The  door  of  the  bedroom  was  ajar  and  he 
was  about  to  enter,  when  he  noticed  the  reflection 
of  a  human  figure  silhouetted  against  the  wall  of  the 
room.  The  gas  was  turned  low,  but  Charles  de- 
tected through  the  dim  light  the  tall  figure  of  Bah- 
lundar  Singh  bending  over  the  large  desk  and  try- 
in-g  to  open  it  with  some  instrument  which  the 
watcher  supposed  was  a  skeleton  key.  While  the 
Indian  was  at  work,  the  sleeping  form  of  Dick 
stirred  and  startled  the  Hindoo,  who  whipped  with 
a  lightning-like  motion  a  silver-hilted  dagger  or 
Malay  crease  from  beneath  his  coat,  and  cowered 
into  the  shadow.  In  a  few  moments  Charles  saw 
the  long,  gaunt  form  of  the  Asiatic  again  reflected 
on  the  wall,  stooping  above  the  desk.  This  time 
the  Hindoo  was  successful ;  for  the  desk  opened,  and 
the  fingers  of  the  thief  darted  to  the  little  drawer 
in  which  Charles,  the  evening  before,  had  placed 
the  ring.  Evidently  Bahlundar  Singh  had  seen  him 
put  the  ring  there,  but  had  not  seen  him  take  it  out 


Touched  with  the   Tar- Brush. 


207 


ajjain.  Charles  still  watched  the  fellow  with  inter- 
est. If  the  man  was  a  common  thief  he  would  take 
the  money  and  other  valuables  lying  in  the  desk;  if 
not,  he  must  have  some  special  design  upon  the 
ring. 

liut  the  Hindoo,  whatever  may  have  been  the  ob- 
ject of  his  search,  carefully  shut  the  desk  again 
without  disturbing  anything,  and  withdrew  softly 
toward  the  door.  Charles,  shrinking  back  into  the 
darkness,  felt  his  blood  curdle  as  the  stealthy, 
panther- like  steps  passed  him  in  the  hallway  and 
ascended  the  stairs.  Entering  the  room  noiselessly, 
he  locked  the  door  and  opened  the  desk.  I'lvery- 
thing  was  there  as  usual.  What  could  be  the  nieaji- 
ing  of  the  Hindoo's  action?  O'Beirne  sat  down  to 
think.  He  put  together  the  stealing  of  the  dagger, 
the  man's  desire  to  be  employed  by  him,  his  sus- 
picious movements  on  the  previous  evening,  and 
now  this  new  pantomime.  Then  he  looked  at  the 
ring  upon  his  finger.  Whatever  were  his  thoughts, 
before  he  went  to  bed  he  carefully  examined  the 
fastenings  of  the  windows  and  placed  a  revolver 
under  his  pillow. 

It  was  toward  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  and 
Charles  had  been  making  his  preparations  to  leave 
Halifax.  Suddenly  Dick  entered  the  room.  "Thank 
God,  Charley!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  took  your  advice 


2o8 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Town. 


hi' 


Jli 


I';*'-- 


and  owned  ii|)  to  all  the  disgraceful  truth.  1  saw 
(irace  alone.  I5y  good  luck  her  father  was  out,  and 
I  had  a  chance  to  talk  to  her  right  from  the  heart. 
1  told  her  she  was  at  liberty  to  cut  me  if  she  wished. 
She  threw  her  head  up  (you  know  her  proud 
way,  ('harley)  and  said,  '1*11  never  give  you  up, 
come  what  may.'  I  couldn't  do  anything  but  just 
kiss  her.  In  truth,  I  never  doubted  her,  and  I  don't 
care  a  penny  what  the  old  man  says.  I'll  have  her 
in  spite  of  all.  A  girl  who'll  stand  to  a  fellow  like 
that  is  worth  waiting  for,  and  I  may  have  to  wait 
until  the  old  man  dies,  for  (Irace  says  she  will  not 
marry  without  his  consent.  There  the  matter  rests 
unless  I  can  win  her  father  over,  of  which  I  have 
hopes,  for  he  doesn't  dislike  me  personally." 

Charles  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  his 
head  bent.  Then  he  faced  his  brother  with  a  pallid 
smile.  "Well,  Dick,  since  you  have  been  so  suc- 
cessful," he  said,  "  1  have  nothing  to  do  but  tender 
my  congratulations.  Bahlundar  Singh!"  he  called 
out  to  the  Indian,  who  was  in  the  hallway  packing 
a  trunk,  and  who  now  entered,  "you  will  from  this 
time  forth  serve  Mr.  Richard  in  place  of  me,  as  I 
shall  not  return  to  Halifax  very  soon.  He  will  be 
responsible  for  your  wages.  And,  Dick,  I  will  leave 
with  you  this  as  a  marriage-token."  As  he  spoke  he 
drew  from  his  finger  the  opal  ring  and  handed  it  to 


Touched  with  the   Tar- Brush, 


209 


his  brother.  Dick  took  it  with  surprise.  "  Father's 
ring,  Charley — why,  wliat  the  deuce — didn't  lie  give 
it  to  you  as  a  keepsake  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  give  it  to  you  as  a  keepsake.  It  will 
be  in  the  family  still."  Charles'  swarthy  face  had 
grown  still  paler,  though  he  kept  a  slight  smile. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Charley!"  cried  Dick,  throwing 
his  arms  about  his  brother's  neck,  "don't  look  so 
confoundedly  like  a  ghost.  You'll  come  back  to 
the  wedding,  won't  you — that  is,  if  you  can  man- 
age it  ?" 

Charles'  face  hardened.  "I  can't  say,"  he  an- 
swered, turning  away.  "  Hahlundar  Singh,  what  are 
you  standing  there  for?  The  trunk  is  not  half 
packed." 

The  next  morning  Charles  took  his  departure  for 
New  York.  Dick  went  to  the  station  to  see  him  off, 
but  his  brother  bid  him  a  constrained  adieu.  "I 
see  you  are  wearing  the  ring,"  said  Charles;  "  I  ad- 
vise you  to  lock  it  up;  opals  are  called  unlucky." 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Dick.  "  What  do  I  care  for  old 
wives'  superstitions?  I  will  wear  it  till  the  day  of 
my  death." 

Charles  gave  an  involuntary  start,  glanced  uneasily 
around,  and  then  turned  quickly  away.  "Good-by," 
he  called  back  hoarsely  without  looking  at  Dick. 
Then  he  stepped  in  haste  to  the  platform  of  the 


2IO 


Tales  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


H 


',:«.•; 

;>-* 


car.  Dick  looked  after  him  a  moment  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  He's  not  himself ;  but,  begad!  how  could  he  be?" 
he  muttered.  **  Indeed,  I  don't  blame  him.  I'd 
be  cut  up  myself  under  such  circumstances." 

Less  than  a  week  after  Charles  left  Halifax,  Dick 
and  his  servant  were  seen  on  the  train  on  their  way 
to  Bedford,  where  the  O'Beirnes  kept  a  small  sail- 
yacht. 

The  two  must  have  got  off  at  that  station,  for  the 
yacht  was  afterward  found  drifting  loose  against 
the  opposite  shore.  There  was  no  trace,  however, 
of  the  two  men.  Inquiries  were  made  about  them, 
but  nothing  could  be  discovered.  Conjecture,  of 
course,  was  rife,  and  the  blow  fell  heavily  on  Grace 
Lingate,  for  she  had  loved  Dick  devotedly.  Sud- 
denly, after  six  weeks  of  waiting,  confirmation  of 
people's  worst  fears  was  realized.  Some  boatmen 
in  the  basin  came  across  the  floating  body  of  a  man 
in  the  water.  The  face  was  much  disfigured,  but 
the    clothes    were    recognized    as    those   of    Dick 

• 

O'Beirne.  When  the  body  was  lifted  into  the  boat 
the  silver  handle  of  a  small  Eastern  dagger  pro- 
truded from  the  nape  of  the  neck.  It  had  been 
driven  in  to  the  hilt  and  the  blade  had  severed  the 
spinal  cord.  Death  must  have  been  instantaneous. 
There  was  money  still  in  the  pockets  of  the  clothes, 


Touched  with  the   Tar -Brush. 


211 


but  an  opal  ring  which  Dick  had  been  observed  to 
wear  the  morning  he  disappeared  was  gone.  Search 
was  made  for  the  Hindoo  servant,  but  in  vain.  It 
was  supposed  he  had  escaped  somehow  back  to 
India.  Nobody  knew  where  Charles  was,  and  Colo- 
nel Preston,  after  making  many  inquiries,  let  the 
matter  drop.  Suddenly,  about  a  year  after  the 
tragedy,  Charles  O'Beirne  arrived  in  Halifax.  He 
explained  his  long  absence  and  silence  on  the  ground 
that  he  had  been  to  South  America,  and  but  a  week 
before  had  heard  of  his  brother's  death.  He  visited 
Dick's  grave,  had  a  costly  monument  placed  over  it, 
and  carried  the  silver-handled  dagger  home  to  his 
lodgings,  where,  however,  it  was  never  afterward 
seen.  He  now  began  to  pay  renewed  attention  to 
Grace  Lingate;  but  she,  faithful  to  the  memory  of 
Dick,  at  first  refused  his  advances.  Charles'  per- 
sistency, however,  conquered,  and  the  marriage  was 
at  last  arranged.  O'Beirne,  who,  since  his  return 
to  Halifax,  had  shown  little  of  his  old  light-heart- 
edness,  at  times,  in  the  sunshine  of  his  expected 
happiness,  grew  almost  gay,  and  on  the  day  previ- 
ous to  his  wedding  was  in  unusually  high  spirits. 
He  came  home  to  his  lodgings  late  in  the  evening 
and  went  to  his  room.  Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  the  other  inmates  of  the  house  were  awak- 
ened by  the  fall  of  a  heavy  body  on  the  floor  an^ 


■m 


212 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


the  sound  of  groans  issuing  from  O'Beirne's  room. 
IJurstingopen  the  locked  door  they  entered.  Charles 
lay  stretched  upon  the  floor,  the  fatal  dagger  in  his 
heart.  The  window  of  the  room  was  open,  and 
whether  he  had  done  the  deed  himself  or  had  fallen 
by  the  hand  of  another  no  one  could  tell. 

The  mystery  of  the  O'Beirnes  was  never  cleared 
up. 


1. 

is 
id 
:n 


:d 


WHIGS  AND  TORIES. 


WHIGS  AND  TORIES. 


"Ignoble  parvenus  with  wealth  content, 
What  know  ye  of  the  claims  of  long  descent  ?  " 

— Annals  ok  an  Old  Family. 


Miss  Margaret  and  Miss  Priscilla  Bingay  kept 
a  fashionable  boarding-house  on  Victoria  Street. 
They  were  relics  of  the  very  oldest  aristocracy  of 
Halifax.  Part  of  their  ancestors  had  come  from 
England  with  Lord  Cornwall  is  in  1749,  part  from 
Boston  with  General  Howe,  at  that  memorable  time 
when  the  British  troops  found  it  convenient  to  evac- 
uate the  contumacious  Puritan  capital  of  Massachu- 
setts Bay.  They  did  not  regard  it  as  at  all  necessary 
to  trace  their  pedigree  any  farther.  If  any  of  us 
should  take  the  trouble  to  go  back  a  few  genera- 
tions, we  should  very  likely  find  among  our  ances- 
tors some  people  whom  we  should  not  care  to  invite 
to  dinner.      But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

The  father  of  the  Miss  Bingays  had  held  some 
provincial  office  or  other — Crown  Lands,  or  Fisher- 
ies, or  Mines;  their  grandfather  had  had  a  musty 
shipping  and  commission   business  down  on  Water 

Street — no  matter  about  that,  either!     The  family, 

215 


if: 


2l6 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


m 


m 


% 


ill 


si^ 


Sj''      >■!  'I 


for  two  or  three  generations,  had  been  intimate  at 
Government  House,  and  their  own  house  had  been 
one  of  those  that  the  military  most  frequented — 
which  facts,  you  will  agree  with  me,  ought  to  have 
been  quite  sufficient  to  establish  their  position.  The 
comparative  poverty  into  which  the  Bingay  family 
had  gradually  sunk  did  not,  in  the  eyes  of  Miss 
Margaret  or  Miss  Priscilla,  at  all  detract  from  its 
present  importance,  while  it  did  serve  greatly  to 
enhance  its  former  splendor.  That  they  themselves 
were  compelled  to  keep  a  boarding-house  they  prop- 
erly enough  regarded  as  no  disgrace.  Money,  with 
them,  weighed  not  a  feather's  weight  in  the  scale 
with  family.  They  were  entirely  unable  to  compre- 
hend how  the  possession  or  the  non-possession  of 
money  could  be  regarded  as  in  any  way  affecting 
an  old  family's  standing.  So  long  as  people  had 
ancestors  to  point  to,  they  might  safely  do  what 
they  liked  for  the  vulgar  necessities  of  life,  pro- 
vided, of  course,  they  always  remembered  who 
and  what  they  were  and  kept  a  proper  sense  of  dig- 
nity on  that  account. 

Miss  Margaret,  the  elder  of  the  Bingay  sisters, 
was  short,  stubby-featured,  and  stout;  Miss  Pris- 
cilla was  tall,  keen-eyed,  long-nosed,  and  slim. 
Miss  Margaret's  hair  was  brown  and  straight,  with 
only  here  and  there  a  streak  of  silver;  Miss  Pris- 


Whigs  and  Tories. 


217 


'ris- 
llim. 


Iwi 


th 


TIS- 


cilla's  was  a  fine  iron-gray,  and  was  always  dressed 
in  huge  cannon  curls.  Miss  Margaret  was  too 
short  to  be  stately,  but  Miss  Priscilla  always  moved 
as  if  remembering,  as  she  always  did  remember, 
that  she  was  the  inheritor  of  the  blood  and  the 
pride  of  generations  of  aristocratic  liingays.  In 
only  one  thing  had  they  departed  from  the  tradi- 
tion of  their  house:  they  had,  in  their  latter  days, 
become  High  Church  women,  and  had  left  old  Low 
Church  St.  Jude's,  where  their  fathers  had  wor- 
shipped since  1749,  for  St.  Albans,  where  there  were 
more  of  the  accessories  of  ritualism.  But  to  the 
Halifax  churches  you  have  been  partly  introdtced  in 
my  story  about  Mrs.  Arabella  Tremlow  and  the  good 
young  Grosvenor. 

Every  summer  Halifax  gets  a  great  many  "  Ameri- 
can" visitors,  as  tourists  from  the  United  States  are 
called.  Some  years,  indeed,  during  July  and  Au- 
gust, the  hotels  are  full  of  them,  and  very  cool  and 
agreeable  do  these  visitors  find  the  Nova  Scotian  cli- 
mate after  the  great  heat  of  New  York,  or  Boston, 
Washington,  Baltimore,  or  New  Orleans.  Occasion- 
ally an  American  wants  to  spend  some  months  there, 
and  so  prefers  to  find  a  private  boarding-house,  in 
which  case  he  probably  settles  at  the  Bingays'  or 
the  Dales* — both  houses  where  people  regardful  of 
their  surroundings  may  safely  take  board. 


I.'!"); 


'ii 


Ml' 
W  !1 


i  h 


III 


2i8 


Ta/cs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


One  summer  a  well-dressed  woman,  whose  card 
was  inscribed  "Mrs.  Ring,"  appeared  at  the  Bin- 
gays'  house  and  inquired  for  board.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  rich  silk,  had  on  a  showy  bonnet,  and 
wore  large  diamonds.  Her  accent  was  decidedly 
that  of  a  New  England  woman,  of  the  peculiar  and 
not  wholly  unpleasing  type  that  one  finds  in  the 
country  towns  of  Maine  or  Massachusetts.  It  was 
not  an  uncultivated  cPccent,  but  it  was  unmistakably 
nasal,  and  with  one  unacquainted  with  New  Eng- 
land would  very  likely  have  passed  for  the  accent 
of  the  best-bred  Bostonians.  The  Miss  Bingays 
were  naturally  not  familiar  with  localities  in  the 
United  States,  and,  truth  to  tell,  while  they  ad- 
mitted that  they  had  known  some  very  good  people 
from  the  States,  they  had  none  too  high  an  opinion 
of  Americans  generally.  Mrs.  Ring,  likewise,  rep- 
resented herself  as  the  wife  of  Judge  Ring,  of  a  well- 
known  town  near  Boston,  so  after  a  hurried  con- 
sultation Miss  Margaret  and  Miss  Priscilla  decided 
that  she  was  probably  as  bearable  as  most  Americans, 
and  agreed  to  take  her.  It  must  be  confessed,  how- 
ever, that  they  did  it  with  a  good  deal  of  reluctance, 
for  they  much  preferred  to  know  fully  the  ante- 
cedents of  the  people  who  came  to  their  house,  and 
in  this  case  strict  inquiries  were  hardly  possible. 

At  dinner  the  first  evening  Mrs.  Ring  appeared  in 


]Vhigs  and  Tories. 


219 


a  gorgeous  flowered  brocade,  with  far  larger  dia- 
monds in  her  ears  than  those  she  had  worn  in  the 
streets,  and  with  her  hands  covered  with  costly 
rings.  The  boarders  at  the  Miss  Bingays'  were 
generally  quiet  people,  families  that  had  broken  up 
housekeeping,  elderly  young  men  who  had  appar- 
ently given  up  the  idea  of  marrying,  and  three  or 
four  spinsters  as  proud  and  withered  as  their  hosts. 
It  was  not  quite  the  place  for  so  much  display,  and 
it  was  soon  evident  that  the  other  boarders  so  re- 
garded it.  When  Mrs.  Ring  appeared  there  were 
many  significant  looks  about  the  table,  many 
shrugs  on  the  part  of  the  elderly  young  men  and  sniffs 
on  the  part  of  the  spinsters.  The  lady,  however, 
was  wholly  at  her  ease;  she  chatted  familiarly  with 
the  people  next  her,  made  inquiries  regarding  the 
best  drives  and  the  best  chances  for  sailing  in  the 
harbor,  asked  the  name  of  the  present  governor,  and 
finally  introduced  the  topic  of  the  American  Revo- 
lution. At  this  the  whole  table  looked  up,  for  if 
there  was  a  point  on  which  they  had  pronounced 
opinions,  it  was  the  event  which  had  forced  their 
ancestors  to  give  up  their  homes  and  occupations 
and    emigrate    to    a    strange  country  to   begin  life 


anew 


in 


Are   there   many  people  still    in    Halifax,"  she 

asked,  "whose  ancestors  came  here  at  that  time?" 
14 


220 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


1 1^.1  ' 


pi  ii 

m 


m  ■ 


! 


"Many!"  said  a  young  man  near,  while  frigid 
silence  fell  on  the  whole  table;  "most  of  the  fam- 
ilies who  are  at  all  known  in  Halifax  trace  to  that 
event." 

"Does  yours?"  she  said  significantly. 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  answered  with  asperity,  "I  am 
proud  to  say  it  does." 

"Proud  of  it,  are  you?"  said  Mrs.  Ring.  "Why, 
I  can  hardly  understand  that.  I  had  always  thought 
of  the  people  who  came  here  at  the  time  of  the  Rev- 
olution as  cowards,  who  would  fight  neither  for 
king  nor  country,  and  so  ran  away." 

If  a  bomb  had  suddenly  exploded  there  could  not 
have  been  more  consternation  than  this  speech 
raised.  The  Miss  Bingays,  one  at  the  head,  the 
other  at  the  foot  of  their  table,  simultaneously 
dropped  their  knives  and  forks  and  looked  almost 
with  terror  at  their  guests.  On  the  faces  of  the  lat- 
ter it.  was  hard  to  see  whether  anger  or  disgust 
held  chief  sway.  But  Mrs.  Ring  continued,  appar- 
ently not  seeing  the  effect  of  her  words,  her  dia- 
monds glittering,  and  the  wine  she  had  brought  to 
the  table  rapidly  disappearing:  "I  have  always  felt 
so  sorry  for  the  Tories  of  the  Revolution,  they  were 
such  stupid,  unprogressive  people.  Now,  indeed,  I 
understand  what  makes  Halifax  such  a  very  dull 
and  dingy  place." 


I*.- 


]V/tigs  and  Tories. 


221 


Poor  Mrs.  Ring!  Her  doom  was  sealed.  From 
that  time  forward  she  was  snubbed  and  shunned,  but 
as  she  had  paid  her  board  for  several  weeks  in  ad- 
vance, according  to  tiie  Miss  Hingays'  inflexible 
rule,  they  could  not  gracefully  dismiss  her  from  the 
house.  What  these  estimable  women  suffered  during 
this  time  no  pen  can  portray.  The  worst  of  it  was 
that  she  never  seemed  to  understand  that  the  snubs 
she  received  were  intended  as  snubs.  She  would 
come  to  the  table  anil  receive  the  most  frigid  recog- 
nition, or  no  recognition  at  all,  and  at  once  attempt 
a  conversation  with  one  of  the  people  who  had 
treated  her  the  most  (.ontemptuously.  Rough-slwjd 
she  rode  over  all  that  select  household's  traditions. 
With  delicious  humor  she  set  off  the  peculiarities  of 
the  town,  with  every  nook  and  corner  of  which  she 
seemed  to  be  actjuainting  herself. 

"Whenever  any  of  my  friends  after  this  develops 
into  an  excessive  bore,"  she  would  say,  "  I  shall  tell 
him  \.o  go  to  Halifax^  where  he  will  find  no  end  of 
people  of  his  own  sort."  She  made  fun  of  the 
houses,  the  carriages,  the  people's  pretensions, 
even  the  redoubted  military.  She  unearthed  all 
the  buried  scandals  of  the  town,  opened  cup- 
boards where  the  dismalest  skeletons  were  hid, 
raked  up  old  family  and  church  quarrels,  and  some- 
how insisted  on  people's  listening   to  whatever  she 


222 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


^ 


m 


i.'j 


U! 


«i 


had  to  say;  and  the  worst  of  it  all  was  that  the  men 
who  had  begun  by  openly  siding  with  the  women 
against  her  soon  secretly  came  to  like  her.  In- 
deed, she  was  too  dashing  and  her  speech  was  too 
easy  for  men  not  to  be  attracted  by  her. 

Now  the  Miss  Bingays  had  a  younger  brother,  Mr. 
Russell  Bingay,  in  whom,  as  the  last  male  scion  of 
the  ancient  house  of  Bingay,  all  their  hopes  were 
centred.  He  was  a  good-looking,  brainless,  beefy 
chap  of  forty-two  who  had  never  done  a  month's 
useful  work  in  his  life,  for  the  good  reason  that  he 
was  too  empty-headed  and  too  indolent  to  keep  a 
situation.  In  early  life  he  had  been  sent  to  college, 
where  he  had  wasted  three  years,  taxed  the  patience 
of  his  professors  beyond  endurance,  and  squandered 
the  little  sum  his  father  had  left  him.  At  last,  as 
he  could  not  or  would  not  study,  and  with  his  fast 
life  was  bringing  disgrace  upon  the  college,  he  had 
been  politely  asked  by  the  authorities  to  leave. 
This  he  had  generously  consented  to  do,  and  hence- 
forth had  become  chiefly  dependent  on  his  maiden 
sisters  for  his  support.  He  was  generally  looked 
upon  as  the  idlest  man  in  Halifax;  and  his  poor, 
patient  sisters  were  the  only  persons  who  kept  any 
faith  in  him  whatever. 

Miss  Priscilla,  the  keener-sighted  of  the  two,  was 
not  as  wholly  satisfied  with   her  brother  as  Miss 


Whigs  ami  Tories. 


223 


Margaret,  for  the  latter  never  saw  a  fault  in  her 
beloved  Russell.  To  her  he  was  the  handsomest 
and  most  sensible  man  in  the  world,  and  she  was  not 
able  to  comprehend  how  any  one  could  think  differ- 
ently concerning  him.  Miss  Priscilla,  too,  had  high 
hopes  of  him.  She  had  gradually  come  to  believe 
that  he  would  never  personally  shed  much  lustre  on 
the  Bingay  name,  but  she  prophesied  that  by  means 
of  his  good  looks  and  high  breeding  he  would  cer- 
tainly some  day  make  a  brilliant  match,  and  so 
atone  for  any  lack  of  credit  he  had  hitherto  reflected 
on  the  family  name.  There  had  been  a  time  when 
society  had  received  Russell,  notwithstanding  his 
lack  of  brains  and  his  notoriously  bad  habits;  but  as 
he  grew  in  years,  corpulence,  and  baldness,  people 
gradually  gave  him  up,  and  he  found  his  chief  com- 
panionship among  men.  At  this  period  he  was  lodg- 
ing at  a  small  house  near — an  arrangement  he  him- 
self had  insisted  on,  for  obvious  reasons — and  was 
taking  his  meals  as  usual  at  his  sisters'  table. 
He  had,  indeed,  this  much  claim  on  his  sisters  for 
his  support,  that  he  owned  a  third  interest  in  the 
Victoria  Street  house,  which  was  now,  except  some 
worn  furniture,  all  that  remained  to  the  family  of 
their  earlier  fortune. 

When  Mrs.  Ring  arrived  in  Halifax  Russell  was 
off  on  a  yachting  cruise,  but  he  soon  returned,  and 


I 


224 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


:i* 


m 


m^\ 


m 


then  the  lady  devoted  herself  almost  exclusively  to 
him.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  empty-pated  fel- 
low was  flattered  by  her  attentions,  and  before  long 
he  and  Mrs.  Ring  were  seen  everywhere  together. 
Russell  was  not  a  person  to  remonstrate  with,  so  his 
sisters  said  nothing  to  him,  but  the  poor  ladies  be- 
gan to  be  frightened  in  earnest. 

A  climax  was  naturally  to  be  expected  to  this  lit- 
tle comedy  of  the  Bingay  household,  and  it  came 
speedily.  One  morning  some  stale  Boston  news- 
papers found  their  way  into  the  Miss  Bingays'  pri- 
vate parlor,  and  the  sisters  sat  down  to  read  them. 
Suddenly  Miss  Priscilla's  brow  knitted  and  her  can- 
non curls  shook  visibly  as  she  drew  the  paper  closer 
to  her. 

"  Margaret,"  she  said  in  a  tone  that  almost  fright- 
ened her  sister,  who  was  looking  over  the  society 
gossip  and  fashion  notes  of  the  weekly  Transcript^ 
"read  this."  Miss  Margaret  took  the  newspaper 
from  her  sister  and  read:  "  Mrs.  Ring,  of  Rosefield, 
who  six  months  ago  made  herself  notorious  by  insti- 
tuting divorce  proceedings  in  the  Supreme  Court 
against  her  husband.  Judge  Ring,  on  the  plea  of 
incompatibility,  has  been  granted  her  divorce,  her 
husband  offering  no  objection  to  the  plea.  It  is 
understood  that  the  lady  is  now  in  the  British  Prov- 
inces." 


:    •    i^ 


W/iigs  and  Tories. 


225 


Miss  Margaret  looked  as  if  she  would  faint. 

"Outrageous!"  said  Miss  Priscilla,  nodding  her 
head  emphatically. 

"Shameful  woman!"  said  Miss  Margaret,  echoing 
her  sister's  tone. 

"She  must  leave  the  house  to-day!"  said  Miss 
Priscilla. 

"This  very  day!"  echoed  Miss  Margaret,  "To 
think  of  our  having  a  divorced  person  here!  You 
must  go  to  her,  Priscilla,"  said  Miss  Margaret. 

"Instantly!"  said  Miss  Priscilla  with  determina- 
tion, rising  and  crushing  the  newspaper  which  con- 
tained the  startling  announcement  in  her  hand; 
"instantly!" 

They  went  together,  and  found  Mrs.  Ring  in  her 
room.  "Madam,"  said  Miss  Priscilla  stiffly,  hold- 
ing out  the  newspaper,  "  does  this  paragraph  refer 
to  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Ring  took  the  Transcript  and  looked  at  the 
place  indicated.  "Certainly,  it  does,"  she  replied, 
without  the  slightest  embarrassment.  "  I  am  happy 
to  say  I  was  quite  success^'ul  in  my  suit." 

"Madam,"  said  Miss  Priscilla,  "we  have  never 
had  a  divorced  person  in  this  house,  and  never  can 
have.     You  must  leave  at  once." 

A  strangely  amused  look  came  into  Mrs.  Ring's 
face,  but  she  sat  still  and  fanned  herself  languidly, 


226 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


M 
•  '■! 


I- 


W 


i      li 


1  <    i< 

II 


displaying,  as  she  did  so,  her  usual  dazzling  assort- 
ment of  rings. 

"Really!"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "What  sub- 
lime virtue!  You  dear  old  pair  of  tabbies,  you  per- 
haps don't  know  that  I've  got  something  to  say  about 
this  as  well  as  yourselves.  Hoity-toity!  a  pretty 
way  this  to  treat  a  sister-in-law!" 

"A  what!"  shrieked  Miss  Margaret  and  Miss 
Priscilla  in  a  breath.     "Is  the  woman  mad?" 

"  Not  quite,"  laughed  Mrs.  Ring  carelessly;  "  per- 
haps I've  less  reason  to  be  mad  than  yourselves. 
You  couldn't  turn  me  out  of  this  house  if  you 
tried." 

"  Was  ever  such  effrontery !"  gasped  Miss  Priscilla. 

"  You  poor  old  bundles  of  starch  and  whalebone, 
look  at  that!"  and  Mrs.  Ring  triumphantly  took  a 
paper  from  her  bosom  and  opened  it  toward  the 
astonished  spinsters. 

They  glared  at  it  in  horror. 

"A  marriage  certificate!"  ejaculated  Miss  Mar- 
garet in  a  low  and  trembling  voice;  "that  unhappy 
boy!" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  married 
him?"  exclaimed  Miss  Priscilla,  sinking  into  a 
chair. 

"  No,  he  has  married  me.  There  is  the  proof  if 
you  can  read,"  replied  the  other  calmly.     "Come 


Whigs  and  Tories, 


227 


now,  don't  make  fools  of  yourselves.  Mrs.  Russell 
Bingay  has  for  a  husband  as  good  a  Tory  as  the 
best  of  them,  and  as  for  herself,  she  is  a  Whig  of 
the  first  water.  I'd  have  you  know  that  Colonel 
Higglesworth,  of  Gates'  Revolutionary  Army,  was 
my  great-grandfather.  And,  what's  more,  he  helped 
whip  old  Burgoyneat  Saratoga — where,  I  fancy,  some 
of  your  ancestors  didn't  figure  to  advantage.  Pshaw ! 
your  plaguy  old  Loyalists  were  a  lot  of  simpletons. 
Much  King  George  cared  for  them!  Left  them  to 
starve  in  this  God-forsaken  country.  Halifax — h'm! 
Do  )'ou  know  what  'go  to  Halifax*  means  with  us? 
But  that's  not  to  the  point.  You  see,  Russell  has 
a  third  interest  herewith  you,  and  I've  a  consider- 
able interest  in  him.  So  it's  quite  impossible  for 
you  to  turn  me  out.  Now,  let  us  solve  the  diffi- 
culty without  any  big  bass-drum." 

Miss  Priscilla's  form  grew  rigid.  "  Either  you  or 
we  must  leave,"  she  said  with  frigid  emphasis, 
grasping  Miss  Margaret's  hand,  which  trembled  vio- 
lently, in  her  own.  "  If  you  have  married  our 
brother  you  must  have  him,  I  suppose,  but  you  shall 
not  longer  have  the  chance  of  insulting  vs.'* 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ring,  contemplatively  nipping 
the  edge  of  her  fan,  "I'm  sorry  you  take  my  little 
remarks  that  way.  You  are  quite  too  sensitive,  my 
dear  sister?-in-law.     Now  your  brother  is  a  man  of 


?:f 


228 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


i 


\v. 


s);  ■ 


HI 


1:1 

I: 


sense,  even  if  he  can't  be  called  brilliant.  What 
do  you  intend  to  do?" 

At  this  practical  question  the  sisters  were  taken 
quite  aback. 

"We  will  buy  you  out,"  Miss  Priscilla  at  length 
managed  to  say. 

"  But  suppose  we  woii't  be  bought  out  ?"  answered 
the  new-made  Mrs.  Bingay. 

"Then  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  give  you  the 
house  and  let  you  do  with  it  what  you  like,"  said 
Miss  Margaret  in  desperation. 

Mrs.  Russell  laughed.  "You  poor,  unpractical 
things!  Who  wants  your  pokey  old  house,  with  its 
musty  furniture?  As  for  your  dingy  pictures — that 
you  are  so  proud  of — I  wouldn't  give  one  of  Cousin 
George  Leech's  waterscapes  for  the  whole  batch  of 
them.  But  if  you  make  me  angry  you'll  find  I'm 
as  good  a  fighter  as  my  great-grandfather,  Colonel 
Higglesworth.  For  the  present,  stay  here  I  zi'v//, 
and  you  can  put  up  with  it  or  not,  just  as  you 
please."  Mrs.  Ring  calmly  took  up  her  novel 
again  and  began  to  read,  while  Miss  Margaret  and 
Miss  Priscilla  beat  a  crestfallen  retreat. 

Poor  lone  spinsters!  Russell's  treachery  had 
struck  a  blow  at  their  tenderest  susceptibilities  and 
most  cherished  hopes.  Of  course  there  was  nothing 
for  them  to  do  but  to  vacate  the  premises. 


Whigs  and  Tories. 


229 


"  I  wish  we  could  leave  Halifax,"  sighed  Miss 
Priscilla  when  they  had  gained  their  own  room. 

"It  will  be  an  undying  scandal,"  wept  Miss  Mar- 
garet. 

"Is  there  no  way  to  dispossess  her?"  she  con- 
tinued after  a  pause. 

"  No,  unless  we  go  to  law." 

"  And  have  it  all  come  out  in  the  papers!" 

l)Oth  shuddered. 

Th.e  Miss  Bingays  had  never  in  their  lives  been 
in  England,  but  they  always  spoke  of  it  as  "home," 
and  it  had  always  been  the  dearest  wish  of  their 
hearts  to  go  there.  Tiiis  wish  had  been  greatly 
intensified  by  the  marriage,  rather  late  in  life,  some 
ten  years  before,  of  a  favorite  cousin  on  their  moth- 
er's side  to  an  English  widower  of  means,  who  had 
the  name  of  being  very  generous  and  who  had 
treated  them  always,  as  his  wife's  relations,  with 
great  consideration.  "  If  we  could  only  go  to  Eng- 
land," they  said,  "and  get  away  from  this  dreadful 
disgrace!" 

Then  the  question  of  their  future  course  assumed 
more  practical  aspects.  For  two  days  they  dis- 
cussed plans  for  engaging  as  hospital  nurses,  for 
doing  dressmaking,  for  opening  a  smaller  boarding- 
house  on  credit,  but  neither  of  these  seemed  fea- 
sible. 


230 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


% 


On  the  third  day  the  difficult  knot  was  cut  most 
unexpectedly  by  Mrs.  Bingay  herself.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  the  lady  called  and  requested  to  see 
her  "sisters-in-law."  At  first  they  positively  re- 
fused to  come  down,  but  Mrs.  Russell  Bingay  was  not 
to  be  put  aside.  "  They  7£v7/ see  me,  too,"  she  re- 
plied, with  determination,  and  at  length,  much  to 
their  dispfi'st,  Miss  Margaret  and  Miss  Priscilla 
were  forced  to  receive  her. 

"Fine  sisters-in-law  you  are,  I  must  say!"  were 
the  first  words  that  greeted  them  from  the  new-made 
bride. 

Neither  said  a  *, ord,  and  Mrs.  Bingay  continued: 
"I  come  from  Russc"!  '^>  tell  you  that  he  is  willing 
to  buy  out  your  ini'irt.vi  ip  the  house.  He  natu- 
rally feels  that  you  have  acted  badly  toward  him,  or 
he  would  have  come  himself." 

"Russell  buy  us  out!"  exclaimed  Miss  Priscilla. 
"Why,  he  hasn't  a  cent  in  the  world!" 

"  And  you  blame  me  for  taking  pity  on  the  poor 
wretch!  You  ought  to  thank  me  for  relieving  you  of 
an  incubus.  If  I  hadn't  had  money  myself,  do  you 
think  I  would  have  married  him?  I  didn't  marry 
Russell  for  his  business  ability,  you  may  rest  assured 
of  that.  But  he  suits  me  very  well,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  I  suit  him.  He  will  never  earn  anything, 
but  fortunately  I  have  money  enough  for  us  bpth," 


W/ti^s  and  Tories. 


231 


and    Mrs.  Bingay  pursed  her    lips   and  folded   her 
hands  on  her  lap. 

"And  you — you  are  goinj^  to  buy  us  out!"  fal- 
tered Miss  Priscilla. 

"  Yes,  /.  I  put  it  first  in  the  name  of  Russell,  as 
perhaps  a  little  more  business-like,  but  /  am  the 
power  behind  the  throne.  You  shall  have  every 
penny  the  old  rattle-trap  is  worth  and  all  the  rub- 
bishy pictures  in  the  bargain.  Now  that  the  trilo- 
bites  (I  mean  your  boarders)  are  all  cleared  out  of 
it,  I  am  going  to  take  the  place  in  hand  and  im- 
prove it.  I'm  going  to  paint,  kalsomine,  and  fresco 
it  from  top  to  bottom,  and  have  a  conservatory  built 
on  the  east  side,  and  maybe  by  the  end  of  next  year 
it  will  look  a  little  less  like  a  Noah's  ark.  Don't 
stare  as  if  you  saw  a  ghost — I  mean  it!  And  I  don't 
mind,  if  you'll  only  keep  your  tongues  still,  giving 
you  rooms  there  when  I  get  things  all  arranged. 
Considering  the  way  you've  treated  me,  I  call  that 
uncommonly  generous." 

"Go  back!"  cried  Miss  Priscilla,  looking  at  her 
sister;  "not  for  worlds!" 

"Never!"  replied  Miss  Margaret,  returning  the 
glance. 

"  As  you  please.  I've  made  the  offer  and  it  won't 
be  made  again.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'd  much 
rather  not  have  you,  but  you're  Russell's  relations 


232 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Toivn, 


I 


11^ 


m 

m. 


f!i  I  • 


r''.  i 


V  ■■ 

ply'  J  ■»■ 

; 

i 

and  minr^  and  I  never  go  hack  on  my  belongings. 
On  the  whole,  I  like  your  spirit;  I  wouldn't  go  back 
if  I  were  you.  You'll  have  enough  money  when 
you  get  your  share  of  the  property  to  go  where  you 
like  and  live  comfortably  on  the  interest.  I've 
been  to  two  real  estate  agents,  and  they  say  that  the 
property  is  worth  about  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 
That  will  leave  ten  for  your  share.  Now  I  can  let 
you  into  a  good  investment  that  will  net  you  eight  per 
cent  secured.  I've  got  twenty  thousand  in  it  myself. 
That  will  be  four  hundred  dollars  apiece.  It's  not 
much,  but  it  will  be  enough  for  you.  And  I  don't 
object  to  Russell's  helping  it  out  now  and  then  if 
you  run  short.  I  don't  intend  to  let  him  have  full 
swing  of  my  money,  but  on  an  occasion  of  that  kind  I 
should  be  willing  to  have  him  do  something.  Well, 
I  guess  I'm  about  through.  If  you're  not  satisfied 
with  the  price,  get  your  own  real  estate  men  and 
we'll  talk  the  matter  over.  But  ten  thousand  is,  / 
think,  all  your  share  is  worth.  Good-by,  sisters- 
in-law;  if  we  don't  love  each  other,  we  needn't  snap 
each  other's  heads  off.  And  I  think  it  would  be 
decidedly  becoming  in  you  to  make  up  with  Rus- 
sell. You  had  better  let  me  send  him  round."  Then, 
before  the  astonished  sisters  could  reply,  Mrs.  Bingay 
had  bustled  from  the  room. 

The  Miss  Bingays  watched  the  woman,  in  open- 


Whigs  and  Tories, 


233 


mouthed  silence,  as  with  a  bold,  quick  step  she 
crossed  the  street  and  walked  up  the  opposite  side- 
walk. Then  Miss  Margaret  flung  herself  into  Miss 
Priscilla's  arms  and  burst  into  tears.  "The  vul- 
garity, the  effrontery!"  cried  Miss  Priscilla. 

"And  the  wonder  of  it  is  that  the  wretch  has  a 
heart,"  sobbed  Miss  Margaret. 

"  A  heart?  A  gizzard,  I  should  say,"  sniffed  Miss 
Priscilla,  "but" — here  she  broke  out  crying  in  sym- 
pathy— "she's  got  common  honesty  if  she  is  a  Yan- 
kee divorcee.'' 

"O  Russell,  you  ungrateful  boy,  how  \  pity  you!" 
exclaimed  Miss  Margaret. 

"I  don't.  He  will  never  realize  that  it  serves 
him  right,"  snapped  her  sister  unforgivingly. 

"Will  you  take  her  hateful  money?"  asked  Miss 
Margaret  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know.  'I'hc  th  ught  of  it  almost  turns 
me  sick!" 

l>ut  they  did  take  it  and  ti  ucd  their  faces  toward 
England.  Almost  the  last  t  ng  they  saw  on  leav- 
ing was  the  exuberant  form  of  Mrs.  Russell  Bingay, 
as,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  she  waved  her  blue 
veil  to  them  in  adieu. 

"  She's  got  him  soul  and  body,"  said  Miss  Margaret 
mournfully. 


234 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Toivn, 


it.^ 


Nil 


"Yes,"  answered  Miss  Priscilla,' struggling  hard 
to  hide  her  tears,  "and  she's  ruined  the  family!" 

After  which  Halifax  saw  the  Miss  Bingays  no 
more. 


iM 


ii 


rd 


fio 


A  SOLDIERS  FUNERAL. 


15 


* 

m 


11 


" 


s    > 

I 


A  SOLDIER'S  FUNERAL. 


MixTER  and  Moors  were  chums.  All  the  regi- 
ment knew  of  their  affection  for  each  other.  Tliey 
were  youngish  fellows  still,  although  they  had  been 
in  the  service  at  least  twenty  years,  and  had 
travelled  half  round  the  world  under  the  colors  of 
the  Lincoln  Oreys.  For  two  years  now  they  had 
been  cooped  up  in  the  old  North  Barracks  at  Hali- 
fax, pipe-claying  leathers,  mounting  guard,  and 
going  through  the  daily  drill;  but  they  had  seen 
much  sterner  service  than  this.  Brave  fellows  they 
were,  as  had  been  proved  on  many  a  tough-fought 
field  in  Asia  and  Africa,  where  they  had  battled 
against  foes  of  all  complexion^,  and  habits  of  war- 
fare, from  the  sallow  hill-tribes  of  India  and  Af- 
ghanistan, with  their  provoking  fashion  of  shoot- 
ing at  you  from  the  top  of  a  rock,  to  the  woolly- 
haired  Soudanese,  who,  in  an  opposite  yet  equally 
unpleasant  way  of  fighting,  disregarding  your  bul- 
let, rush  at  you  with  poisoned  spears. 

The  two    men  had  come  from  the    same  village 

and  had  known  each  other  almost  from  birth.     Long 

237 


238 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Toivn. 


ir; 


in 

i 


before  either  of  them  had  dreamed  of  taking  the 
queen's  shilling  and  wearing  her  uniform,  when 
they  were  growing  boys,  they  had  sworn  a  sort  of 
callow  oath,  as  young  chaps  sometimes  will,  to 
spend  their  lives  near  together.  This  much  all  the 
regiment  knew,  but  there  were  things  between  them 
that  none  of  their  fellow-soldiers  ever  knew  until 
the  time  at  which  this  story  begins. 

Now,  spared  from  the  bullet  of  the  Afghan  and 
the  assegai  of  the  Zulu,  having  escaped  from  the 
deadly  tropic  fever  and  the  withering  heat  of  the 
Soudan,  Moors;  limp  as  a  linen  rag,  an  awful 
pallor  showing  through  the  bronze  on  his  sunken 
cheek,  lay  on  a  pallet  in  the  long  ward  of  the  mili- 
tary hospital,  and  Mixter  sat  beside  him.  The 
doctor  said  it  was  consumption,  but  Mixter  knew 
better.  Moors  was  slowly  dying  of  a  broken  heart. 
In  the  old  Warwickshire  days,  before  either  had 
made  much  of  a  start  in  life,  both  men  had  loved 
and  courted  the  same  girl — a  farmer's  pretty  daugh- 
ter, blithe  Bessie  Beacham.  It  was  the  first  thing 
that  had  ever  disturbed  the  bosom  friendship  of  these 
lusty,  stalwart,  honest  youths;  but  when  men  know 
themselves  to  be  rivals  for  the  affections  of  a  pretty 
girl,  no  matter  how  good  friends  they  may  have 
been  in  the  past,  there  is  sure  to  be  bad  blood,  very 
bad  blood,  between  them.     The  course  of  true  love 


A  Soldier  s  Funeral. 


239 


did  not  run  smooth  with  the  girl  either.  People 
said  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind,  but  though 
she  seemed  to  most  people  to  be  more  strongly 
encouraging  Mixter,  at  last  she  gave  her  promise  to 
Moors,  and  they  were  married.  Then  there  were 
hot  words  between  the  men,  and  an  open  quarrel 
with  blows  struck;  after  which  Mixter  went  sullenly 
away  and  was  not  heard  from  again. 

Soon  Moors  found  out  by  accident  what,  in  the 
blindness  of  his  passion,  he  had  never  seen — that  his 
wife  really  loved  Mixter,  and  had  married  him  in 
pique.  She  and  Mixter  had  had  a  quarrel,  and 
Moors'  jealousy  had  fanned  the  flame  of  her  wrath; 
and  so,  before  the  fire  had  cooled,  she  was  Moors' 
wife.  With  an  anguished  heart  he  saw  the  color 
daily  fade  from  her  cheek,  saw  her  step  grow  more 
and  more  languid,  her  eye  less  and  less  bright, 
until,  when  the  time  came  for  her  to  give  birth  to 
her  child,  she  was  a  mere  wreck  of  her  former  self. 

Nine  months  after  their  marriage,  her  baby  yet 
unborn,  pretty  Bessie  Beacham  was  dead.  The 
slender,  fragrant  plant  of  her  womanhood  was  not 
strong  enough  to  blossom,  and  so  withered  away. 
Moors  buried  her  and  laid  all  his  hope  and  happi- 
ness in  her  grave.  Then  his  heart  went  out  in 
yearning  to  his  early  friend — the  friend  whom  he 
had  loved  with  more  than  a  brother's  love,  but  whom 


240 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


i 


M    11 


! 


he  had  unwittingly  and,  as  he  knew  now,  selfishly, 
robbed  of  a  happiness  that  was  rightly  his.  Remorse- 
fully he  sold  his  simple  belongings,  and  with  a  few 
pounds  in  his  pocket  and  with  a  locket  on  his 
breast,  in  which  lay  hid  a  braid  of  Bessie's  flaxen 
hair,  went  to  seek  his  friend. 

Mixter  had  gone  to  the  Continent.  He  knew  this 
much;  he  might  be  dead — no  one  could  say  to  the 
contrary — or  he  might  have  found  work  in  some 
town  or  city  where  Englishmen  were  most  in  the 
habit  of  going.  He  had  no  clew,  but  he  resolved 
if  Mixter  were  living  to  find  him,  or  if  he  were 
dead  to  find  his  grave.  Mixter  had  been  a  fellow 
of  strong  passions,  and  in  desperation  might  have 
taken  to  drink.  This  was  what  Moors  feared  most, 
and  the  knowledge  that  if  his  old  friend  had  sunk 
into  dissipation  he  was  in  a  measure  responsible  for 
it  nerved  him  more  than  any  other  consideration  for 
his  difficult  task. 

After  several  weeks,  in  the  streets  of  Paris  he 
came  one  night  upon  a  crowd  following  two  stout 
^endannes^  who  were  carrying  rather  than  leading  a 
man  raving  in  delirium  tremens.  In  the  bloated 
face  and  rolling,  bloodshot  eyes  and  the  tone  of  the 
voice,  Moors  with  horror  recognized  his  old  com- 
panion. Amid  the  rabble  of  men  and  boys  he 
followed  to  the  gate  of  the  cofuiergerie^  and  there 


A  Soldier  s  Funeral, 


241 


saw  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart  the  great,  pitiless 
bars  close  upon  the  friend  he  had  come  to  save. 
After  several  unsuccessful  efforts  he  gained  admis- 
sion to  Mixter's  cell,  and  found  him  weak,  sullen, 
and  despairing.  At  first  the  prisoner  turned  from 
him;  but  the  persistent  kindness  of  his  friend  and 
the  touching  story  he  brought  him  finally  won  him, 
and  Mixter  left  the  prison  once  more  a  man.  Moors 
took  him  to  his  own  humble  lodging,  shared  his  bed 
with  him,  got  work  for  both,  followed  his  friend 
like  his  shadow,  helped  him  fight  the  demon  of 
drink,  and  so  at  last  brought  him  back  to  his  old 
self. 

But  a  restless  desire  to  see  more  of  the  world  pos- 
sessed them  both.  Bound  together  as  with  hooks  of 
steel  in  the  bonds  of  old  association  and  of  a  com- 
mon grief,  always  poor  yet  ever  together,  working 
at  any  honest  job  they  could  get,  and  picking  up 
all  sorts  of  knowledge  of  the  world,  they  travelled 
from  the  Tagus  to  the  Vistula.  After  three  years 
of  this  aimless  life  a  yearning  seized  them  for  home, 
and  back  they  came  to  England  to  kneel  together  at 
Bessie's  grave.  Expending  their  little  united  sav- 
ings almost  to  the  last  farthing  on  a  plain  marble 
headstone,  planting  a  rose-tree  at  her  feet,  and 
sprinkling  blue  forget-me-nots  over  her  breast, 
with  red  and  swollen  eyes  they  turned  their  faces 


242 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town. 


1    ■! 


toward  Southampton.  They  had  hope  of  getting 
work  in  the  dockyards  until  they  should  earn  money 
enough  to  take  them  to  America;  but  the  only  per- 
son there  who  wanted  men  of  their  condition  was 
Her  Majesty.  Every  one  else  had  laborers  enough. 
So  to  Her  Majesty's  scarlet-coated  representative 
they  applied,  took  each  his  shilling,  and  were  mus- 
tered into  Company  A  of  the  Lincoln  Greys,  who 
were  then  about  to  embark  for  the  East. 

After  eighteen  years  of  trying  service  in  that  part 
of  the  world  they  came  with  the  regiment  to  Hali- 
fax, having  never  once  been  separated,  having  never 
had  a  thought  except  in  common — on  them  both 
the  shadow  of  a  deep  grief  which  chastened  their 
souls  and  made  them  gentle  and  courteous  in  their 
rude  way  to  each  other  and  to  all  their  fellow-sol- 
diers. They  were  never  boisterous,  seldom  gay, 
yet  were  thoroughly  liked  the  regiment  through. 
No  better  men  had  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder 
at  Tel-el-Kebir  or  had  escaped  the  slaughter  of 
Maiwand.  None  better  deserved  promotion  for 
soldierly  bearing  in  barracks  or  camp,  yet  neither 
desired  or  would  take  promotion,  save  with  his  com- 
rade. So  they  had  remained  privates,  and  privates 
they  were  still  content  to  be. 

Now  Moors  was  dying  of  "consumption."  Not 
even  the  strong  ties  of  friendship  could  pluck  him 


A  Soldier  s  Funeral. 


243 


from  the  grave.  He  lay  listlessly  on  his  pillow, 
and  his  hand  frequently  went  to  the  little  gold 
locket  on  his  breast,  as  if  he  feared  that  he  would 
miss  his  grasp  of  it  when  he  died.  Mixter  sat  by 
the  narrow  hospital  pallet  where  his  friend  lay, 
dejected  and  silent.  The  Colonel,  knowing  the 
affection  between  the  two  men,  had  generously 
granted  him  relief  from  duty  while  Moors  lay  upon 
his  death-bed;  and  so  Mi.xter  was  constant  in 
attendance  at  his  comrade's  side.  He  almost 
wearied  the  regimental  doctor  with  inquiries  about 
him,  although  he  knew  the  case  was  hopeless.  He 
spent  all  his  soldier's  pittance  to  buy  little  deli- 
cacies for  the  sick  man,  even  when  he  knew  that 
Moors  could  not  eat  them.  He  forestalled  the 
hospital  nurses  in  all  the  petty  attentions  which  a 
sick  man  needs.  A  mother  could  not  have  watched 
over  her  child  with  more  assiduous  and  loving 
care  than  did  Mixter  over  Moors.  No  word  of 
endearment  had  ever  passed  between  the  men;  they 
had  never  kissed  each  other,  like  Germans  or 
Frenchmen.  They  kept  their  feelings  well  in 
check,  as  if  they  were  too  holy  to  be  openly  dis- 
played, but  the  warm,  generous,  manly  English 
blood  had  often  surged  up  in  their  breasts  and 
choked  their  utterance,  only  betraying  itself,  how- 
ever, by  a  warmer  hand-clasp  or  a  kindling  glance 


I'-'' 


m 


i  j 


m 


m 


X    i^ 


244 


Tales  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


of  the  eye.  And  Moors  was  dying.  Before  the 
day  should  fade  his  sands  of  life  would  be  run,  and 
then  for  Mixter  there  would  be  no  more  of  his 
friend  than  six  feet  of  cold  clay.  A  shiver  ran 
through  the  watcher  as  he  thought  of  it.  Then, 
looking  at  Moors,  he  found  him  gazing  wistfully 
into  his  face.  The  sick  man's  blue  lips  parted, 
and  his  voice  came  huskily. 

"YeMl  leave  her  locket  around  my  neck,  won't 
ye,  Mixter?"  he  said  slowly.  "All  the  rest  o'  my 
kit  is  yours." 

Mi>  ter  nodded  his  head. 

*'  iTe  loved  her,  ye  know,  boy;  an'  it  might  seem 
tf  ye  that  I  wouldn't  miss  it  when  I'm  laid  out  yon- 
(er;  but  I've  worn  it  night  an*  day  ever  since  I 
laid  her  to  rest,  an'  it  'ud  seem  to  me  as  I  might 
r  ever  find  her  in  the  oth  world  if  I  hadn't  my 
Ijcket  with  me  with  her  hair.  Ye  won't  mind  a 
poor  sick  man's  notions,  Mixter?" 

Mixter  moved  uneasily  on  his  chair.  "Noo,"  he 
said  simply,  looking  down. 

"Ye'll  gie  me  yer  han'  on  that,  boy?"  said  the 
other,  with  a  dying  man's  jealous  care. 

Mixter  silently  placed  his  big,  strong  hand  in  the 
weak,  fleshless  grasp  of  the  other. 

"Ye're  a  trump,  Mixter!"  replied  Moors,  as  he 
sank  back  exhausted  on  his  pillow. 


A  Soldier* s  FuneraL 


245 


a 


In  the  waning  afternoon  Mixter  continued  to  sit 
motionless  by  his  friend's  side  while  the  latter 
slowly  sank.  The  dying  man's  breath  grew  more 
and  more  labored,  and  at  irregular  intervals  a  spasm 
of  pain  surged  over  his  body  and  shook  rudely  the 
last  fleeting  sands  of  life.  It  was  growing  quite 
dusk,  when  Moors,  who  had  just  come  out  of  one 
of  these  preliminary  death-throes,  turned  his  face 
toward  his  still  silent  companion.  His  hand,  yet  in 
the  grasp  of  his  friend,  trembled  a  little. 

"  Ye  needn't  mind  what  I  said,  Mixter,  a  little 
while  ago,"  he  whispered.  "She's  in  peace — (iod 
love  her!  an'  I'll  soon  be  there.  An'  the  locket 
may   comfort  ye,   boy,   in  the  long  days  to  come. 

An' — an'  she  loved  ye,  she  did;  an' "     But  his 

head  fell  back  suddenly,  and  there  was  a  rattling  in 
his  throat.  The  watcher  bent  down  over  him  and 
raised  him  in  his  arms.  The  two  men  took  one 
long  look  at  each  other,  and  then  with  a  sigh  the 
spirit  went  from  Moors. 

Mixter  tenderly  laid  the  body  down  and  closed 
the  eyes. 

Then  he  rose  up  with  clinched  fists,  and  some- 
thing like  an  oath,  for  the  first  time  in  years,  passed 
his  lips.  Breathing  hard,  he  took  his  cap  mechani- 
cally, and  with  a  tearless  eye  walked  slowly  out  of 
the  room,  his  head  dropped  upon  his  breast. 


If 


246 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison  Town, 


;  t 


I'l'i 


^% 


"  He  takes  it  badly,  does  Mixter,"  muttered  the 
next  patient,  eying  the  corpse  askance. 

Moors  was  laid  out  for  burial,  and  Mixter,  who 
had  refused  all  offers  of  others  to  sit  out  the  night 
by  the  body,  was  alone  in  the  room  to  which  the 
remains  had  been  moved  preliminary  to  the  last 
rites. 

A  shaded  lamp  cast  a  dim  glow  around,  and 
indistinctly  showed  the  plain  coffin  and  the  rigid 
form  in  it,  dressed  in  the  regimentals  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  wear  on  parade.  Mixter  looked  down  at  the 
white,  placid  face.  His  own  face  had  grown  hag- 
gard and  his  hair  perceptibly  grayer  during  his  long 
vigil,  and  the  lines  around  his  mouth  were  patheti- 
cally rigid.  After  a  time  he  bent  down  and  slowly 
opened  the  dead  man's  uniform.  There  was  the 
locket,  yet  lying  on  that  breast  which  had  once  been 
so  warm  to  him — that  breast  which  was  now  insen- 
sible forever  to  either  pleasure  or  pain.  No!  it  was 
not  robbing  the  dead  to  take  it.  Moors  had  given 
it  to  him  with  almost  his  last  breath.  How  beau- 
tifully ic  gleamed  up  at  him — the  only  bright  object 
in  that  scene  of  gloom!  He  put  his  hand  under 
the  little  blue  ribbon  that  held  it  and  disengaged 
it  from  the  neck  of  the  corpse;  and  as  with  a  thrill 
of  joy  he  grasped  it  in  his  fingers,  the  clasp 
opened,    and    there    lay    her    hair  —  the    hair    of 


A  Soldier' s  Funeral. 


247 


her  who  had  loved  him,  yet  had  married  another. 
He  had  not  looked  upon  Bessie's  hair  for  twenty 
years,  and  here  it  was  before  him  as  though  it  had 
been  cut  yesterday  from  her  brow.  He  opened  the 
inner  glass  that  held  it  in  place,  and  fondled  it 
with  his  big,  coarse,  bony  fingers;  then  he  quietly  re- 
placed it,  shut  the  locket,  and  put  it  in  the  breast- 
pocket of  his  coat.  Yet  as  he  buttoned  again  the 
uniform  of  his  dead  friend  he  felt  almost  as  though 
he  had  committed  sacrilege. 

"He  doesn't  need  it,  poor  chap,"  he  muttered  in 
excuse,  wiping  his  brow. 

Every  garrison-town  knows  well  the  sound  of  the 
muffled  drum  beating  the  time  of  the  Dead  March 
to  the  slow  tramp,  tramp  of  the  regimental  battal- 
ion as  it  follows  a  comrade  to  the  grave.  A  sol- 
dier's funeral  has  always  a  sad  and  solemn,  as  well 
as  picturesque,  interest  for  passing  civilians,  who 
invariably  stop  and  wait  for  the  simple  yet  impos- 
ing procession  to  go  by.  There  is  something  inde- 
scribably pathetic  in  the  sight  of  the  low  gun-carriage 
on  which  a  private's  coffin  is  borne,  draped  simply 
with  the  old  flag,  and  followed,  with  slow,  regular 
steps  and  reversed  arms,  by  the  dead  man's  silent 
comrades — men  who  have  perhaps  shared  with  him 
in  past  days  untold  privations  and  narrow  escapes 
from  ]eath. 


248 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


I.)) 

m 


Ik- 

I* 


From  the  old  North  Barracks  to  the  military 
burying-ground  in  the  southwestern  part  of  Hali- 
fax marched  the  sad  funeral  procession  of  Private 
Moors.  Close  behind  the  coffm,  his  bronzed  face 
deathly  pale  and  his  eyes  sunken  and  bloodshot, 
not  seeming  to  heed  anything  but  the  low  gun-car- 
riage and  its  melancholy  freight,  with  unsteady 
steps  walked  Mixter  of  the  Greys.  As  a  special 
favor  he  had  been  allowed,  as  chief  mourner,  to 
walk  by  himself  and  without  his  rifle.  Every  now 
and  then  his  big,  brawny  chest  would  heave  with 
suppressed  emotion,  and  his  hands  would  clinch 
and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  harden  as  though  he 
suffered  intense  pain.  As  the  procession  entered 
the  cemetery-gates  he  tottered,  but,  steadying  him- 
self with  an  effort,  walked  on  to  the  grave.  The 
Chaplain  had  just  begun:  *^  Man  that  is  born  of 
woman  hath  but  a  short  time  to  live  and  is  full  of 
misery,"  when  a  deep  groan  broke  from  Mixter, 
which  it  was  heartrending  to  hear;  and  as  the  com- 
mittal words  were  said — "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to 
ashes,  dust  to  dust" — and  the  first  clods  fell  on  the 
coffin  below,  he  stretched  out  his  arm.  "Stop!"  he 
exclaimed,  in  a  hoarse,  unnatural  voice  and  with  a 
convulsed  face;  and  the  men  paused  in  their  task. 
With  a  violent  motion  he  snatched  a  glittering  oval 
thing  from  his  pockety  and  with  a  trembling  hand 


A  Soldier* s  Funeral. 


249 


held  it  by  its  faded  blue  ribbon  over  the  open 
grave. 

"I  must  gie  it  back  to  him!"  he  cried  passion- 
ately; "it's  Bessie's  hair,  an'  he's  worn  it  for  the 
last  twenty  years.  He  gied  it  to  me;  it's  mine; 
but  I  daren't  keep  it — I  daren't  keep  it!  Will  ye 
not  let  me  gie  him  back  Bessie's  hair?"  he  asked 
in  a  strained,  entreating  tone,  looking  earnestly  into 
the  faces  of  his  comrades.  They  hesitated,  at  a  loss 
what  to  do;  but  the  sergeant  in  command  made  a 
sign,  and  they  lifted  the  coflin  and  laid  it  again  on 
the  grass 

"Take  the  cover  off  for  him,  men!"  said  the  Ser- 
geant. 

They  opened  the  coffin,  and  Mixter  bent  his  shak- 
ing knees  beside  it. 

"Take  it,  poor  chap!"  he  said,  in  an  agonized 
voice,  as  he  slipped  the  ribbon  round  the  dead 
man's  neck;  "take  it!  Ye  said  ye'd  miss  it  if  ye 
went  to  her  without  it,  an'  ye  shan't  accuse  me 
when  we  come  before  the  face  o'  God.  Ye  loved 
her,  man,  better  than  a  mother,  belike.  Ye  was 
good  to  her.  God  bless  ye  for  it!  Ay,  ye  won  her 
fairly,  boy;  ye  won  her  fairly,"  and  his  words 
ended  in  a  great  dry  sob. 

Reverently  and  with  a  trembling  hand  he  laid  the 
locket  upon  the  still  breast.     Then  he  moved  grop- 


250 


Talcs  of  a  Garrison   Town, 


H' 


ingly  with  his  hands,  and  his  sight  failed  him.  A 
spasm  of  anguish  seized  him  and  he  attempted  to 
rise,  but  stumbled  and  fell  forward  over  the  body  of 
his  friend.  They  lifted  him  quickly  and  turned 
his  face  up  to  the  sun,  but  in  it  was  no  sign  of  life. 
The  color  had  again  faded  from  the  worn  features 
and  left  them  ghastly  pale.  A  soldier  stepped  for- 
ward and  laid  his  ear  against  Mixter's  heart. 

"How  is  it,  Jervis?"  asked  the  Sergeant  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Dead,  sir!"  answered  Jervis,  after  a  minute's 
pause. 

The  Sergeant  turned  away  with  a  cough  that 
sounded  very  like  a  sob.  The  men  crowded  around 
with  awe-struck  faces,  but  not  a  word  was  said. 

Mixter  had  gone  to  join  Moors  and  Bessie  in  the 
Great  Beyond. 


;:i.tt 


